


Force Majeure

by Rockswindandtrees



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Making up stuff as I go along, Old Gods (Dragon Age), Original Character(s), Tevinter Imperium
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6146120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockswindandtrees/pseuds/Rockswindandtrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was supposed to be awakened far earlier than she was. She was supposed to be greeted by prayers and devoted worshipers. Instead, she it faced with a world far removed from the one she had left.</p><p>Forces beyond anyone's control had twisted her plans and sent them awry - quite the feat, considering she was a God. </p><p>Once revered and feared, now she walks as a nameless Tevinter traveler. And she knows something is a foot - can smell the machinations of several people at play. She likes this intrigue... and she likes these games, but only if she is the winner.</p><p>And she never looses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

 

_**Tevinter - 2 weeks before the Conclave** _

 

"Fasta vass!” Cenner swore as he slipped on the wet street. His palms stung from the impact of his fall, but he quickly sprung up and continued to run. He had been weaving through these derelict streets for some time, eagerly waiting for the moment when his pursuers would lose interest in the chase. Unfortunately for him these men where persistent.

 

Cenner quickly patted his robe’s pockets making sure the trinket was still there. It was amazing that all of this effort was going toward such a seemingly unimportant locket.

 

Most of the time the guards only gave chase for the sake of keeping face - no one really expected to catch a praesumptor, in fact it was almost a badge of pride for families to be targeted by the highly esteemed thieves’ guild. After all, the praesumptors only targeted the affluent and powerful.

 

Cenner barely made it over a rusted and twisted fence that blocked his path. With a thud he landed heavily and tried to catch his breath. These guards had chased him further than any other. So far in fact, that he was now in the old quarter of Minrathous. It was a long forgotten and abandoned place, a reminder of the Emporiums’ fall.

 

Cenner squatted against the wall and rested his head in his hands. What had he gotten himself into?

 

"He went this way!” The shouts were much to close now.

 

Cenner thumped his head against the wall where he rested. This was getting old, he did not know how much longer he could keep this up and returning to the Orders’ safe house was no longer an option - not when imperial guards chased him like a wayward slave.

 

Dark brown eyes scrutinized his surrounds, looking for any shadowy place safe enough to split into. There were not many places to hide in, most building where crumbling doorways and scorched earth. The first blight had done irreparable damage to the area and the citizens had never tried to rebuild.

 

Only one structure stood tall among the bowed and broken backs of old Minrathous. Sharp spires twisted into the evening sky; spindly fingers ever reaching for the stars. These dark spires led down into a pyramid like structure built on a raise platform.

 

It was old, probably the oldest building here, an impressive feat as all other building were created before the first blight. Cenner always appreciated good civilized architecture, and no one could deny this was a perfect specimen of such a thing. Despite his appreciation, nothing could hide the overall unease he got when looking at it. It was far too intact and untouched in this ruined city.

 

Cenner sighed, he knew very well what this place was, and wanted more than anything to avoid it, but it looked like this old god’s temple was now his only recourse. Cenner was Andrastian, in so much as all Tevene were; lip-service to the Maker once a week and shadowy activities the rest of the time. however, despite his less-than devoted beliefs, even he felt a little....disquieted in having to go into this forsaken temple – it had been abandoned for a reason.

 

But what was Cenner to do? Sit here and wait for the guards to arrest, torture and ultimately kill him? Or was he to squish this trivial fear of his and run into the shelter of the temple? Really, there was no other choice. He had been stupid enough to trust Mathius and now he would pay the price.

 

Cenner dropped his pitch to mimic his friend, "It will be easy," he said, "Just a small trinket from a lavish estate and that’s all. No one will notice it missing."

 

 He snorted. Oh, someone had noticed it was missing alright - had noticed it the moment Cenner wrapped his gloved hands around the locket. A ward had been placed on it, so subtle and refined that not even his considerable magical skills had been able to detect it. Had Cenner known who the owner was, he never would have taken the bet. Hell, he never would have left his room and been subject to Mathius' insistent taunts.

 

The dying sun cast long shadows on the overgrown streets - just enough light for Cenner to navigate the broken steps. He paused upon the crumbling platform as a shiver ran up his spine. No one had worshiped here in centuries, so why did this place still reeked of incense?

 

He could hear the Magister’s men in the distance, closing in tighter and tighter. Cenner did not have time to be wasting on superstitions. He knew these guards would not pause to enter such a place. These were chosen and skilled warriors, the best Tevinter had to offer. And when your master was the Archon himself, well… there was no room for failure.

 

He squeezed past a fallen column and into the main chamber. Cenner barely had time to slide behind an altar before thundering steps raced up the stairs. He lay still on the dusty ground and held his breath, grateful once again for his loose black robes. The altar was a large rectangular structure that hid him from view as long as he stayed lying down. The guards could not possibly hope to get through the same way he had.

 

True to his thoughts, he heard the guards mutter angrily and stomp away eager to find another way inside the temple, but not without leaving two men stationed at the blocked entrance.

 

A wry smile spread across his chapped lips, ‘ _How smart_.’

 

Cenner squinted in the growing darkness; he could now barely see his hand in front of his face let alone if there were any other escape routes. But darkness could be both a hindrance and a friend, this he knew well. If Cenner could not see, then neither could the stationed guards. In an attempt to stand up, he slowly slid his left hand against the floor, trying desperately to avoid making any noise. If he could just find a way out of this Maker forsaken temple, he could make a run for the old highway - maybe lay low for a while in Vol Dorma until another job came.

 

His shifted his weight again, putting additional pressure on his left hand.

 

_Click_

 

Cenner froze as the crisp sound filled the temple. He only had enough time to realize he had triggered a trap before the floor fell out from under him. In a woosh of stale air, the floor slid back and Cenner fell two floors down. Before he could even blink the trap above his head closed and he was entombed in utter darkness.

 

It had happened so quickly that he didn’t even have time to scream. As he lay still on the hard cold ground, he took a moment to collect himself. His back ached and his one leg seemed hurt, but Cenner was able to roll on his side and slowly raise himself up. He gathered his mana and cast a bright blue orb of light. It was useless for all it did: he was in a tight square room of four grey walls. They were smooth, undecorated and most importantly, held no way to out.

 

He spun in a tight circle and let out grunt as his injured leg buckled, it was useless at the moment and all he could do was drag it around and numb the pain with magic. With his free hand, Cenner felt along the wall, praying, to just about every deity he knew, for some sort of leaver.

 

There was nothing.

 

Panicked and angry, Cenner threw his ball of mana at opposite wall. It was a stupid waste of resources, but at this point he could give a shit. He was sweaty, injured, low on mana, and stuck in a tight enclosed space with absolutely no way out. That stupid bet was going to cost him his life.

 

To his surprise, the once smooth grey wall became alight. A brilliant light blue, the same shade of lyrium filled the darkness.

 

Foreign words and symbols raced along the stone and Cenner quickly hobbled over to the wall to follow their path. Writing and web like lines curled and slithered from each corner, almost as if pulled by an invisible force. He watched with slack jawed amazement as the lines started to swarm together in a tight ball on one particular wall. The disjointed lines coiled like a large serpent, tight in a glowing ball.

 

It was the most beautiful thing Cenner had ever seen. He could not control himself as he reached out to glide his gloved fingers against the blue circle.

 

When his fingers touched, the calm blue magic pulsed once, then twice. On the third pulse, the blue transformed to a brilliant and blinding red. The colour changed started him enough that Cenner took a step back from the door. The magic which had once been calm and serene now seemed anxious and full of energy.

 

He was forced to cover his eyes in fear of becoming blind. A deep rumbling shook the small chamber and then once again, he was dropped back into darkness. Now very wary of his surroundings, Cenner slowly lit a ball of light with what little mana he had left – and subsequently let out a relieved breath.

 

Where pulsing red the magic had coalesced, now stood a long dark corridor. His mage-light only penetrating the dark corridor about a foot a head of himself and then it was plugged into a stale darkness. It was earie, this new passage way, but what choice did Cenner have?

 

His shoulders slipped against the smooth corridor as he went further into the hallway. He was by no means a large man, so it only highlighted how very narrow the space was. It was obviously designed so that only one person could move down it at a time.

 

The floor is very smooth and covered in a fine layer of dust. How long had it been since a soul was even in this part of the temple? The hallway seemed to be looping in a continuous and tight circle, and so Cenner found himself forever at the edge of a corner, never able to see more than a foot ahead. It was an amazingly unnerving feeling to be unaware of his destination. Was he simply travelling in circles? Was he moving upwards or downwards? He could not tell for the passageway had removed all his concept of navigation.

 

Cenner wiped the sweat off his brow, noticing how hand is now shaking. He has always had clever magic tricks, but not any sort of stamina to go along with it. It was becoming draining to keep the light up for such a prolonged period of time.

 

About half an hour into his forced exploration, he becomes both equal parts bored and worried. By now there should have been another door, or at least another level that the path led him to. Instead he just seemed to be going slowly nowhere. It has left him much time to think about what he plans to do to Mathius once he gets out of this very stupid position he has put himself in.

_‘Perhaps I should slit his throat when he asleep,_ Cenner ponders _. After all Mathius is much bigger than I and more connected, can’t let him know I am coming.’_ Cenner clenched his hands tightly around the circular locket in his pocket.

 

‘ _All this misfortune for such a simple –‘_

Cenner’s thought are interrupted by him stepping on thin air. He stumbles and rolls over his one good ankle as he tries to avoid falling down completely. It viciously twists his already injured leg forcing him to let out a pained wail. The sound echoes in the darkness and now there are ten of him crying out against the pain.

 

It is a deeply unsettling effect

 

His mage-light wavers, weak against his growing fatigue. However when Cenner looked up from the stairs he had just tripped down, he was pleasantly surprised to see a door.

 

He took a shaky breath as his eyes roved over the masterpiece. It had to be the most lavish door he had ever seen. It glowed golden in his pale light, with hints of rubies and diamonds littered throughout the intricately carved scenes.

 

He could make out the masterful renditions of dragons in mid battle, soring over tiny cities. Jade trees rose from the base of the door to swirl and mingle with the iron worked cities inlayed in the gold.

 

He sucked in a sharp breath. This was probably worth more than many cities in Tevinter. Hell, maybe even greater than the Archon’s wealth. What was such a beautiful and valuable door doing down in an old forgotten temple?

 

And then another thought struck Cenner. If this was just a door, then what lay beyond it?

 

With an eager grin he hauled himself up and searched for a handle. But despite the overwhelming detail of the door, it seemed to lack a significant feature. There was no opening device.

 

A startling pain made him gasp and reach down to his leg. He touched something wet and thick as he did so. Slowly, and with dread, he pulled back his hand to examine it in his light. As suspected, thick blood was all over the appendage.

 

Now, Cenner had seen violence over the years, it was unavoidable in the streets he lived in. But blood always made him feel light headed – he could never stand the colour of it. He swooned and put his hand against the door in an effort to keep steady against the growing black overtaking his vision.

 

He felt something slitter and hiss under his hand.

 

Immediately he removed his hand from the door and shoved his mage-light in front of him. In amazement he watched as once imobile jade trees stared to slide against one another. Some disappeared back into the gold door while other limbs slid over each other as if untying a complicated knot.

 

As he watched the movement, he noticed that his bloody handprint seemed to be slowly sucked into the door. A shiver went down his spine as the door continued to move and draw it his blood as it did so. It was now apparent that the only way to open this door was to use blood. He had seen this type of blood-magic locking spell before, but never to such a degree.

 

In no time at all, all the jade trees had disappeared within the gold. A second later the heavy door clicked and swung open, gliding soundlessly against the dusty grounds.

 

Eager to see what treasures lay beyond, Cenner hobbled into the room and pumped as much manna as he could into his light. What he found left him feeling utterly and devastatingly disappointed.

 

It was another room of grey nothingness. The walls were dark and bereft of design. The floors covered in a thick layer of dust. The air hung thick and dry, and the only sound was that of the agitated breaths of Cenner as he faced the bleakness of it all.

 

The only difference between this chamber and the last was a high stone tomb which took up the majority of the space. It too, like the chamber itself, was devoid of any decoration.

 

Cenner hobbled over to the stark stone structure. It was thick and tall, coming up to his chest. There was a very obvious line near the top that looked like a lid.

 

Ever the opportunist, Cenner sighed and thought, ‘ _Perhaps treasure could be found he_ re. _Maybe this whole shit storm won’t be worth nothing after all.’_

He set his body against the lid and heaved with all his might. He grunted againt the strain it put on his injured leg, but the thought of gold kept him going. He took a deep breath and leaned against the lid again.

 

With a sudden jerk, it slid violently across its base and fell over the edge. He cringed as the stone lid smashed against the floor.

 

He leaned back over the open tomb and peered inside. Inside the stone box lay a still figure draped in fine white silk. It covered the person from head to foot in a glossy and shimmering shroud. Cenner tentatively reached forward to touch the fabric.

 

It was the softest thing he had ever felt, possible the finest fabric he had ever seen. Again he found himself wondering what something so pristine and untouched was doing down in a dusty old temple.

 

Cenner slowly removed his hand from the cloth and hissed at the now no-longer pristine white fabric. In his haste to feel its texture, he had forgotten his hand was soiled with blood. He regretted his lack of foresight immensely – nothing so beautiful deserved to be stained.

 

However, like the door to the chamber, it seemed some sort of blood magic had been worked into the very fiber of the fabric. He watched in sick fascination as his bloody handprint seeped into the threads and quickly snaked across the entire length of the shroud. It was very like watching dye race across wet fabric.

 

Soon the red threads thinned out and started to form a shape on the blanket. All colour left his face as Cenner watched the form of a person slowly materialize across the fabric. It outlined the very figure that lay beneath.

 

A sudden stillness filled the air. All sound, even his own breathing, seemed to be sucked away from the small room. It felt like a heavy weight was sitting on Cenner’s chest, and he found he could not move.

 

His hands shook against this new feeling and sweat dripped down his brow. Everything in his body was screaming for him to move… to run. But Cenner found himself frozen by some unnameable fear.

 

A sudden gasp startled Cenner out of whatever paralysis he had come under. His injured leg buckled causing him to lurch forward, grasping the other side of the open tomb to stay standing.

He was now face to face with the bloodied shroud.

 

His eyes widened in horror as we watched a puff of air lift the fabric where the face should lay beneath. It happed two more times before Cenner was able to unscramble his terrified thoughts and push himself up into a fully semi-standing position.

 

With violently shaking hands, he slowly curled his fingers around the top part of the cloth. Taking a steadying breath, Cenner slowly inched the fabric over the still head and down past the shoulders.

 

What greeted his sight was beyond shocking.

 

Instead of a finding decaying mummy underneath the blood stained cloth, he found a very alive woman.

 

She lay perfectly still aside from her shallow breaths. Cenner squinted against the wavering light, taking in this startling person. From what he could see, her skin was pale, but had the definite flush of life to her. She was clad in an outfit which seemed just as opulent and finely crafted as the door to the chamber.

 

Having just reached his 30th year, Cenner was by no means an old man, but looking at this peaceful woman, he couldn’t help but feel all his years. She radiated a youthful glow that tugged at his heart. A sudden and overwhelming urge to care for this young lady overtook him. She looked so vulnerable and so very very young.

 

Gently, Cenner touched her neck looking for a pulse point. When his fingers grazed her soft neck, it felt like an strong electrical current burned up his fingers. He gasped and tried to pull away, but found a delicate hand clamped around his wrist.

 

His eyes moved away from his detained hand to the face of the sleeping woman. Only she was no longer asleep.

 

It was like he was in a daze, starring open mouthed at the mysterious woman. He watched in amazement as she released his wrist and looked around. She leaned on one of her arms, but before she could move further, Cenner swooped in and helped pull her into a sitting position.

 

Her head violently whipped in his direction, the harsh movement startling him and causing him to take a step back.

 

Her eyes sparkled like glass in the weakening light, “You dare to touch me…and yet do not bow?”

 

What type of question was that? Cenner took a couple wobbling steps away from the apparently very-alive woman and shook his head. This was bizarre, no…stranger than bizarre, this was simply crazy.

 

He licked his chapped lips, “I…why…” he cleared his throat and tried again, “who are you? Why are you even down here?”

 

Her eyes hardened, “Do you know where you are?” Her voice was not that of a young inexperienced womans’. It was slightly husky and had a lilt to it that oozed culture and education. Not even the highest magisters sounded so well polished.

 

The contrast between appearance and voice caused him to pause. At her raised eyebrow he stumbled, “I know I am in a temple, but other than that, I have not a clue.”

 

She turned her head to the side and eyed him with suspicion, “then how came you to be in the inner sanctum?”

 

“The inner…what?”

 

She looked away from him then. Her neck craned all the way back as she intently gazed upon the ceiling and walls. What she was looking at was beyond Cenner, for he saw nothing at all.

 

Quickly she turned back to him, “What year is it? Have those foolish Magisters finally decided to show their faces yet?”

 

She waved a hand, simultaneously clearing the stale air and stalling his response, “No I suppose they haven’t. But then again, what self-respecting Magister could ever hope to hold high court after that debacle?”

 

Cenner hesitated, unsure whether he was supposed to answer. This strange woman seemed to be holding her own council.

 

Pitch black hair fell to the floor as she leaned down over the stone ledge and took a small jump. She landed daintily on the smooth stone floors, and for a short moment Cenner found himself distracted by the small plum of dust that encircled her feet.

 

She straightened up and smoothed her high collar and she rearranged her fine silk dress suit. With a frown she stated, “ Who did those humans think they were, trying to break into the Golden City like that and –,”

 

He stumbled against the impossibility of her words, his wavering mage-light extinguishing in his shock. Not a second later, a different source of light filled the space in a yellow glow.

 

Her eyes reflected the light spectacularly as she held a mage-fire delicately her palm. They glittered and shifted like opal and seemed as sharp as steel. Cenner found himself frozen in this woman's apprising stare.

 

She tilted her head and the paralyzing effect ended. Shaken breath, Cenner whispered, “What do you mean….the Golden City? It can't…you can’t –,”

 

With a lazy wave the mysterious woman cast her mage-fire against the walls. It bounced off the wall in a silent shower of sparks. Each ember which fell to the ground kept its glow, like stars upon the earth.

 

“Where is head priest Lucasian? I find it odd that he would send someone so…” she paused and eyed him with distinctly arrogant air, “inexperienced, to deal with my awakening.”

 

He paused, truly at a loss for words.

 

She took an agitated step towards him, “Well? Has a cat got your tongue? I have had enough breach in propriety to last me two of your lifetimes. I should have at least one offering here for me, and what do I get instead?” she circled around him, stalking like a cat, “one very damaged and apparently mute servant.”

 

Incised at her tone and assumptions, Cenner stood up as straight as possible, “Listen here lady. I don’t know who you are, or who the hell you think I am, but I am no servant, least of all a servant to some priest named Lucasian. I also don’t think there have been any priests here for a long long time.”

 

In a flash she stood right before him, barely an inch between them. He jumped at her sudden appearance and piercing gaze as she insistently asked, “What year is it?”

 

He sighed again at the question, “9:41 Dragon.”

 

Her eyes glazed over as she mumbled, “9:41…Dragon? This cannot be right. I was supposed to be awakened long before –,”

 

She then settled her gaze directly on him. She leaned forward as she purred, “It seems we have had a change in plans.”

 

A shiver raced down Cenner’s spine at her tone of voice. It was smooth as silk, but something seemed dangerously wrong. He took a limping step back, but she just smiled and matched him step for step, “You see… I need mana. But more importantly, I need answers to some very _very_ important questions. And you are going to give them to me.”

 

He took another step back and hit a wall. He was now trapped between this slip of a woman and an unmoving wall. Taking his chances with the stranger, he grabbed both her upper arms in an attempt to push her aside.

 

She did not move, not even one inch. It was like trying to move stone.

 

Brows furrowed in anger, she quickly grabbed him around the throat. Slowly her fingers tightened and her nails pierced her skin. He tried to push her, to claw her hands and pull them away. But to his horror, Cenner realized she was far stronger than he.

 

Her eyes flashed deep purple, silver and then pink in the golden light. A slow smile crept along her face as she held Cenner off the ground, “You said that you did not know who I was.” She pulled his face closer to hers, now they were nose to nose, “Well, then let me educate you…”

 

Cenner screamed as she dropped him on the ground. A loud crack filled the air as his weight landed on his injured leg. It lay completely broken beneath him - he let out a desperate whimper as his head dropped to the ground in exhaustion.

 

She leaned over him as her thin fingers gently combed his lose and matted hair away from his forehead, “That is right, kneel before your gods.” she whispered.

 

Cenner saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye. He quickly looked up only to have a stinging sensation run across his throat. In disbelief, he weakly brought a hand up to his neck. Thick blood flowed over his fingers and down his chest to drip on the floor.

 

Eye wide in fear, he tried to scream but only blood oozed out between Cenner’s lips. In his dimming vision he watched as the woman cleaned her dagger and put it back up her sleeve.

 

He sunk to the floor as she gazed at him solemnly, “I am Razikale… and I accept your offering.”


	2. Chapter 2 - Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank the people who took the time to read this story and leave a review. This story will be AU in that great creative license will be used for the history and existence of Old Gods and their relation to the Dragon Age history/world.
> 
> As always, I do not own any content/ideas of Dragon Age - Bioware does.

Chapter 2 - Shock

 

Dust settled peacefully around the man's slumped form, it was quiet now – very still and hushed. Razikale frowned as she rubbed her temples and let out a pained breath. It had been so many centuries since she had last used blood to absorb the memories of another; she had forgotten how taxing it could be when ones' mana was so low. But that was the thing, wasn't it? She should not have had to do the sacrifice herself, attendants were supposed to be there for her awakening – eager to smooth the transition from sleep to awakening.

What was even more confusing were the strange images which flooded her system. They made no sense, how could so many things be so different from her last slumber? She was only supposed to be resting for fifty years – enough time to avoid the mess surrounding the overreaching politics of the Magisters' ambition on entering the fade. But from what she could tell the language had change as people seemed to speak a weak and stripped version of Tevene. The cadence was all wrong – flat and without inflection. A language could not possibly change in such a short amount of time.

There was more, but try as she might the memories slipped out of her grasp – she needed more mana, she needed more blood. And while she no longer felt faint, she could barely feel the thrum of her power. It rested deep within her and she would require more sacrifices if she ever hoped to access it. This would not have been a problem, had the appropriate protocols been observed – she would have at least five offerings waiting for her.

Razikale sighed and gathered her straight hair into her palm. She twirled it and flung it around her neck and over her shoulder like a scarf. It was time to leave, obviously something was preventing the priests from returning and it was time she discovered the cause.

She scoffed, as she peered down at the bedraggled dead mage. 'What a pitiful offering' she thought, but she supposed it was her only saving grace this man was a mage and she had been able to take is manna through his blood.

The pathway was dark as she made her way through the lower temple. It was a good thing her eyesight was as superb- if not better, than an elf's at night. She wove through the silent halls, as quiet as death itself. As she travelled, the humid air slowly gave way to dry air.

Suddenly, in the upper levels, she could hear faints shouts of men. Her dark hair slipped off her shoulder as she sharply gazed at the ceiling and cocked her head to the side. Her mouth lifted in a slow smirk - it seemed at least her senses were working properly. She slowly slipped her chamber key into her silk robes as her nostrils flared while she sniffed the air - she could smell the humans' sweat mingling with the achingly familiar scent of incense her followers favoured.

Her smirk bloomed into a full smile, her opalescent eyes shifting in the darkness. Razikale's steps quickened towards the Temple proper. Perhaps she would catch her followers in prayer – she so loved a dramatic entrance, and what better way to do this then just step out from behind the main alter.

The twinning path stopped suddenly and she knew that she was now just under the main altar. With practised ease she pressed the hidden sigils painted on the wall, and watched with satisfaction as the thick stone ceiling slid open. She squinted at the evening light as she waited patiently for the platform she was standing on to rise up past the trap door.

The platform did not move.

Impatiently she pushed on the sigil again – and waited. She considered the distance above her head – certainly too high for the average human or elf to jump, but still within her physical limits…she hoped. This slumber seemed to have left her bereft of most of her energy, and she grudgingly acknowledged that her limitation were still unknown to her. She crouched and took a slow breath in. On her exhale she sprung up and landed silently on the upper floor. As she righted herself she stumbled and braced her hand against the altar.

The men were close now, she could hear them talking and smell them stronger now. Her head hurt with the strain of trying to comprehend the new language. But she had to push herself – she had to at least be able to communicate with the people around her. The mage's memories were full of these new words, and she tried to fill her mind with this new vocabulary.

She ran down the steps towards the courtyard. In her haste for answers, Razikale failed to see the neglected state of her temple. She did not notice the greasy dirt which now covered her hands from simply touching her alter.

Once she rounded the corner, Razikale spotted fifteen men loitering outside her temple. Their dark spikey amour glimmered in the moonlight like obsidian. Swords drawn and faces grim, they looked both impressive and intimidating. This group hinted of great danger, but in her haste Razikale failed to properly take stock of her surroundings. She was beyond impatient to have some questions answered and her arrogance led her to feel no fear.

One of the men spotted her and pointed to her in astonishment. In a purely aggressive male move, the other men turned and rushed forward. Shocked by the unexpected animosity, Razikale stepped back in astonishment and her adrenaline spiked dangerously – this was not at all how she expected to be greeted. Her body automatically responded to her anxiety, she could feel her black nails elongate and sharpen and they cracked as she flexed them.

She tried to manifest her mana out of her core and focused on her creating her most glorious form. To call upon the protection of her dragon form would be taxing, but Razikale needed the assurance of safety. Only…nothing happened. Instead, her mana violently bounced back into her the like an over stretched band. The force of this backlash sent her reeling backwards into the dirt.

The men slowed as they circled her. One laughed as he pointed, "Looky here boys, our little thief is a mage."

It was difficult, but she planted her hands to stand, "I am no thie-," She never got to finish her sentence as the man closest to her slapped her across the face. With a sickening smack her head whipped to the side. She felt her lip split at the strike as her blood dribbled down her chin.

"Shut. Up."

Razikale lay there stunned. How had this situation even happened? These were mere mortals and should not even be able to even touch her. Was she so diminished that a group of glorified thugs could beat her? Unfortunately she found the answer to her question as she was rewarded with an awful burning sensation at her second hasty attempt to shift forms.

This second failed attempt left her winded and angry. Her eyes flashed as she regarded the men, "How dare you! Who do you think you are?" Razikale spat, "Do you have any ideal who I am?"

The men looked at each other in disbelief and then broke out into mocking laughter. Their condescension made her blood boil.

"Oh, we know exactly who you are, thief." The guard took a step forward as the grip on his sword tightened, "You best hand over what you took."

The only possession she had on her was the chamber lock.

"This?" she pulled out the keystone from her robes and regarded it, "This rightfully belongs to me" she hid the object back into her inner robes and sneered at the men, "Now, I am done arguing with you. You are going to tell me exactly where the high priest is and why you have retained me!" She tried to lace her words with power, to drive her will onto the others, but like before her magic bounced back and caused her to wince.

Someone shifted and another man moved position. She quickly turned towards the closest guard and jumped up, hand outstretched to gauge out his eyes. A vehement oath was uttered and someone behind her pushed the blunt end of a blade into her kidneys. Crashing down, she was pushed further into the dirt as bodies settled over her. She dug her fingers into the ground to find some purchase to push the offending men off her, but something cold closed around her neck.

A started gasp slipped through Razikale's lips as she fell limply to the ground….it was like a fog had been placed over her and what little mana she had recovered was swiftly cut off from her. With a sinking realization she understood that these men must have done something to her magic. Her rage would have been an inferno of magnificent proportions. She would have set these men and their world on fire, but she had no energy and found little will to hold onto the indignation – sleep beckoned her like the arms of a waiting lover.

Through her dazed state she could feel someone petting her hair, commenting on what a pretty thief she turned out to be. Razikale could do nothing as her hands were bound behind her back and she was thrown over one of the men's shoulder. She could do nothing as wondering hands grasped more flesh then was required as she passed though charred ruins.

 

* * *

 

 

The antechamber she was unceremoniously thrown into was both opulent and unimpressive. There was wealth certainly; one could see it in the many mirrors and gold gilded walls. Not only was the wealth displayed by gold trinkets, but so too in the number of slaves which waited patiently at every corner. The sheer number of them bespoke of their owners status. Yet, even with all this finery, the overall decor felt juvenile and ostentatious in equal measure. The door to her resting chamber had more refined elegance, more tasteful symmetry then the entirety of this room.

Razikale's silent observation was broken when the grand doors opened. A tall man glided through them, smoothly taking the stairs to her kneeling position. He ignored everyone, the slaves and bowing guards and instead his piercing grey eyes studied her, sweeping across Razikale's dirty and wrinkled cloths.

She shifted, tried to square her shoulders and meet the probing gaze with her own. However, one of the guards had other plans, and forced her head down in reverence. Despite the steel grip on her neck, she twisted to get a better look at this new person. He was curiously calm and collected, and what was more intriguing was that Razikale could sense his magic undulating under the surface. Definitely not near her equal when she was at her strongest, but the most not worthy since her awakening. If she could get even a fraction of this man's mana, then she could most likely reclaim her previous abilities.

She planned then – had to come up with a way to get this man alone in order to access his mana. But first she had to get the wretched collar off her neck. But from what she could see, he was well guarded at surrounded at the moment. Perhaps there would be a way for her to earn his esteem or at least plead the removal of the infernal device tampering her strength.

She continued to scrutinize him, never flinching even as he narrowed his eyes at her. Despite his shrewd look, a hint of a smile graced the corners of his cupid's bow lips. Even given her precarious and somewhat hazardous situation, Razikale could not deny this was an impressive specimen of a human male. Tall and broad, he cut an imposing figure as he moved gracefully in his black silk robes.

He circled her, and with a lazy wave motioned over her form, "You are prettier than I thought you would be."

Obviously this man held significant authority, if the stiffening of the guards' shoulders was anything to go by. Razikale knew that if she wanted to get out of this unfortunate situation she had gotten herself into, this man had to be on her side. And from centuries of witnessing men such as he, she knew he would much appreciate a witty and flirty remark more than a barbed retort or submissive attitude.

Razikale opened her mouth to speak, but the man dismissed her, looking instead to the guard holding her in place, "I was under the impression the thief was male."

She could practically taste the guard's fear at the question. The one closest to her spoke up, "My Lord Archon, we were…..the slaves did say that they saw a cloaked man scaling the walls earlier this evening."

So she was in the presence of the Archon, how interesting. She as a rule had avoided politicians and their various machinations, but it looked like she had no choice now. Razikale only hoped this Archon was not nearly as stupid as the last one she had dealt with. The previous one had been much too lenient and arrogant – letting the magisterium play with magic beyond their understandings. The court chaos and instability had been the main reason why she had even gone into her extended Rest.

The Archon stepped closer to her, bending down to peer into her face. His dark hair, streaked with grey at the temples, sparkled like in the candle light.

"And yet…You bring me a woman."

Another, braver guard chose that moment to speak up, "she had this, My Lord," Razikale watched as he pulled out her keystone from his bag. They must had taken it from her when they incapacitated her.

The Archon twisted and snatched up the item. He let it rest in his palm as he considered it. She wondered what he was thinking. Despite the rather bland look on his face, his irritation was evident by the clenching of his jaw muscles.

A few moments passed and then the Arhon snapped his fingers. A short elf hurried over to him and tentatively took the item from his grip. With regret she watched the little slave scurry off with her only possession – the only thing familiar in this very different world.

His eyes were much cooler as they considered her for a second time, "It seems you have a problem." He narrowed his eyes, "stealing from a Magister is punishing by death," his voice was a deadly whisper as he brought his face down into her own, "stealing from me is publishable by something far worse..."

Razikale tried to stand, "I am no thief! I tried to explain –,"

He roughly grabbed her chin, far less charismatic then moments ago, "Come now my lovely woman, My artifact was clearly in your possession. There is simply no point in perpetuating this lie of yours."

Cool fingers traced the restrictive collar around her neck, "I am not surprised a mage would steal from me. After all who would not want something of mine…"

She sneered at him, and in response he tightened his grip. She would most likely have a bruise come morning.

"But you're not much of a mage are you? At least not from what my men tell me of your failed summoning attempt. I really cannot fathom how you got past my guards…or my slaves. I expected someone of greater means…. not someone so young and with such diminished mana reserves."

His assessment rankled her. She had to clench her jaw to keep in her ire – to prevent herself from educating this ignorant fool on just who he was dealing with. How dare this short-lived mortal compare himself against her – to see himself as an equal was laughable and to see him above her was simply inconceivable. He would quake in fear if he understood the things she was capable of – of the atrocities she had taken part of.

But he was right regarding one thing; she was, at the moment, greatly diminished. Unable to summon magic and unable to use her strength, she was no better than a mortal woman. The only thing she had were her words – she had best use them well.

Shifting, Razikale leaned into his harsh hold on her chin. She slowly pushed her chest up and quivered her lower lip, "Please…" she barely contained her sneer at her supplicating tone, "understand that I had no idea this was yours – it was given to me as payment and when I figure it was stolen, I tried to find some help."

The Archon stepped back from her then, "What do you mean by 'payment', what were you being paid for?"

Razikale quickly racked her brain for something she could use. What could she say? With a sly smile she remembered the most common occupation for beautiful yet low-borne women of her day. And Razikale knew she was captivating enough that this fabricated profession would be believable.

She flashed a seductive smirk at the Archon, "I…keep lonely men company."

He laughed loudly and the guards startled at the noise, "You are a whore?"

Razikale shrugged, "I prefer the term courtesan, but the end result is the same."

Something sparked in his eyes at her admission, "And what pray-tell, brothel lets their very beautiful and captivating asset wonder around a dirty temple?"

"I am not associated with a brothel – my reputation is enough to garner interest…and more importantly enough money to avoid such restricting establishments."

Suspicion was clear in his eyes –but so too was fair amount of lust; she could smell his interest across the room, "I see. Yet how do you explain having possession of my most treasured item?"

Razikale morphed her face into that of a woman scorned, "My last client…" She word with an appropriate amount of venom, "was a man who contacted me two days prior. He said he had watched me from afar, eager to have me in his bed, but had been unable to pay my price. He swore that if I gave him but some of my attention, I would receive the most coin I could ever hope to obtain."

At her pause, the Archon waved for her to continue, "I am no fool – a promise of coin is not actually coin. I told this poor soul that I would only ever lay with him when the gold was in my hand. He asked that I meet him at the old temple – swore that full payment would be ready the next night. I thought, 'why not?' If he spoke the truth, then I would be making much money and if he were to be false, well…I would simply leave. The next night I waited at the temple, watched as the sun gave way to the moon. I was going to leave, when all of a sudden the man from the day prior, showed up looked positively harassed. He was sweating and kept mumbling about people being after him, he quickly shoved something into my hands and then ran away. It was so shocking and so fast that I did not see where he went."

Arms crossed the Archon considered her, "What did you do after that?"

A pause and then Razikale continued her web of lies, "I was so confused that for a time I simply stood there. Next thing I know, I hear voices coming from outside. Thinking it was that strange man from before, I ran outside hoping to confront him. But instead your guards were there. I tried to explain that I was no thief, but never got the chance."

Grey eyes stared down at her, his lips thin in contemplation, "So… you are nothing more than a common whore. Stuck in the wrong place –,"

"And at the wrong time…" she whispered.

For a time the room was utterly silent. The Archon had turned to stare at the opposite wall while the guards maintained their silent existence. Razikale knew this was a pivotal moment for her. Either this man believed her lies, or he ordered whatever punishment he had planned. For once in her very very long life, Razikale felt fear.

Finally the silence was broken "What will you do if I decide to let you go?" the Archon questioned.

She sucked in a breath, perhaps her story was working, "I will go back to my work and hope that the money I lost tonight can be made up some other way."

"Perhaps your funds can be made another way."

Startled, Razikale replied "Pardon me?"

"I find myself without companionship. My wife is quite busy with her affairs with my young heir. Her attentions are leached away by the young child, and I could not be bothered to visit brothels in the city." He turned and considered her, "You see, it is just too much preparation and security required for a quick moment of respite."

He came over to her and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, "but you are so beautiful, so exotic in your looks. I would retain you as my own concubine."

Razikale just barely managed to keep the victorious smile off her face. Being his concubine would come with the promise of uninterrupted time with the man. Eventually she was positive she could get him to drop his guard. It was no great sacrifice on her part to play this role. The man was attractive, and Razikale knew she would probably enjoy the arrangement as much as he would.

With a coy smile she answered his question, "I graciously accept your offer."


	3. Glittering Masses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Razikale meets a certain Tevinter and a new opportunity presents itself.
> 
> Adult content later on in this chapter (denoted by ** at the start and finish**)

**Chapter 3 – Snake in the Grass**

 

_One year later…_

 

Razikale sighed as she lazily draped her arms across the gilded banister, watching the growing crowd with a wry smile. The deep blue curtains cast a shadow over the landing, hiding her from the prying eyes below, so she took advantage of this position to silently study of the parade of Magisters in the grand reception hall. Clad in deep black silks and the twirling lace, they all looked like pompous fluttering birds.

She noted that fashion had not changed overly much since she was last awake; people tended to lean towards darker colours now compared to her time though. Her own silk suit had long since been taken from her and subsequently burned by the slaves. Sometimes she wished she had the clothes even if they were the simplest in her wardrobe. It would have been nice to have at least something to remind her of her previous home.

This Tevinter… it was so foreign to her that she might as well have been placed in another world. She had to continuously watch herself, make sure that she did not slip back into her native tongue – something they now called Arcanum. It startled her to find that her language was long gone and only spoken fluently by a few dedicated scholars. She could never use it, as it was her accent turned enough heads. Most people thought her accent quaint and endearing – but they knew nothing, and spoke a poorer version of her great language.

Her fist tightened in frustration and she quickly felt the cool metal bend under her grip. With great care she slowly removed her fingers one by one from the rail and inspected the damage. Perfect indentations of her fingers could be seen. She tilted her head down to let the curtain of her dark hair hide her satisfied smile. Despite the tortuously slow return of her magic, it seemed her strength was returning at last.  Her fingers glided over the metal railing back and forth until the marks were barely visible to a passerby. She had avoided detection for more than a year and she could not be lax in her activities – not when she was so close to her previous mana levels.

It seemed her care was for nought though, as she was alone on the wide balcony for the most part – no one really counted slaves as company. She eyed the three stoic elves standing quietly against the wall. Like statutes, unmoved and unaffected, they peered straight ahead and at attention, waiting for a command. Despite their distant appearance, Razikale knew better than to discount their ability to observe and retain information. She had overheard enough gossip to last a lifetime in her short period at court. The Archon himself often canvased the slaves for any information he could use to his advantage – and she knew for a fact, the most prominent Magister families had at least one elven slave who reported back to the Archon personally.

A slow and easy heartbeat could be heard coming down the hall towards her. No one but the Archon himself was ever this at ease at this sort of affair. Everyone below stank of stress and sweat, their heartbeats quick like little rabbits. Who would not be nervous? The Archon had decided to host the annual Magisterium meeting at this own estate this year.

The Archon’s hands were cold as they rested on her shoulders.

 “So….I am finally permitted to attend the Magisterium meetings as your consort, am I?” she questioned in a wry tone. It had been an argument between the two of them for the past months. He was eager to leave her at this summer estate, while Razikale insisted that she at least view the initial social gathering.

He squeezed her arm and let out a small chuckled as he guided her around the pillar, “This…” he gestured to the winding pillars and marble floors below, “Is just where my business begins, rarely do we ever conduct the important matters in the public eye.”

She let out a delicate laugh, “I would imagine.”

He gently massaged her shoulders as Razikale leaned back into his chest, “I acquiesced to your demands only for tonight, my dear. You must understand that my wife is here – surprising yes, but ultimately required for appearances sake. It would be poor form for you to be overly visible over the course of this week. Besides, it is not like you are unaware of the activities of the Magisterium. I often find myself wondering who is more popular, you or me?”

It was true, she had garnered quite the reputation for herself over these last months she had resided in the Archon’s estate. He hosted grand affairs filled with only the most influential people from across Tevinter and even (on the very rare occasion) Orlais. Lively and charismatic, half the time the Archon’s guests paid more attention to her rather than the man himself.  Sometime the Archon used this to his advantage, but most of the time Razikale could tell it irritated the man.

He pulled her by the shoulders and led her further into a dark corner and stopped, all mirth gone from his face, “I do hope you know what is expected of you. You are here as my guest, as an honoured companion. I would hate to have to punish you later for any misstep.”

Her eyes flashed at the word punish, but she quickly lowered her eyes and swallowed her retort. She could not let her pride get in the way of her goal, and these past months had been a never ending lesson on humility and patience. In a demure voice she whispered, “Of course, I remember your wishes.”

He let out a wistful sigh and stroked her face, “It is my wish we could stay in bed all day, but I can deny you nothing Raza.”

“And I thank you most humbly, My Lord, for entertaining the whims of a lowly servant, such as I.”

“In my service you may be, but ‘lowly’ would not be a word I would ever use to describe you.” He caressed her face again and tilted her chin up, “You are far too beautiful and educated for your station.” His eyes sharpened as they searched her face, “Sometime I wonder about you…”

“What could you possibly want to know…I am an open book?”

He let out a sarcastic laugh, “My dear, being humble does not suit you at all. You and I both know that there is much more to you than you let on…in fact, I am sure you are lying to me.”

“Then why tolerate me?” Razikale challenged.

“Besides your obvious physical attributes? There is something about you…something so very mysterious. I couldn’t bring myself to end you before your puzzle was solved.”

A tense minute went by as both master and servant stared at each other, neither one willing to break the exchange. Bells rang in the main hall, echoing through the corridor and signally the start of the grand reception ball.

He pulled away, “Move along now Raza, I expect to find you with the higher ranking servants.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek, his hands smoothing down her gown.

Despite the fact she had been _permitted_ to attend the ball, Razikale was still bared from mingling with the high ranking Magisters while the Archon’s wife was present. She slipped past the Archon and swiftly made her way towards the back entrance, the indignity of the whole situation making her hands curl into tight fists.

“Raza”

His stern voice froze her in her tracks and she slowly turned to face him.

“I humour your proclivities to disregard the proper protocols when alone with me. I will not however, be so inclined to do so in public.” The Archon made an exaggerated gesture towards the ground, “do not forget to show proper respect when addressing me.”

Clenching her teeth, Razikale bent her back into a low sweeping bow, “Greatest apologies Lord Archon.”

He smiled at her patronizingly, “Well done Raza. In the future, let us not forget who our betters are, shall we?”

She waited until his footsteps were far away before she rose from her bowed position. In a rage, her eyes flashed iridescent purple, “It is not I who has forgotten who their betters are.”

 

* * *

 

 

The man’s stillness was what caught her attention. He stood away from the rest of the Magisters, slowly sipping a goblet of wine and resting lazily against one of the upper level walls. He was clad in flashy robes – not a Magister, but something close to it.

Perhaps she ought to speak with the man? She was bored beyond measure with the other courtesans and servants. She was better than them and they knew it – it caused her to be ostracized as they purposefully moved away from her every time she tried for conversation. With the Archon and his _wife_ on full matrimonial display, she was also socially barred from entering the higher socially ranked groups.

With a languid flick, Razikale opened her lace fan and moved away from her group. She slowly fanned herself as she made her way up the marble staircase. The closer she got, the more she recognized the human above. After all, he was almost as infamous as her.

“My, my, what do we have here, a handsome man hiding away from the glittering masses below?  I would think someone like you would be basking in the glow of such affairs.”

Nimble fingers twirled an impressively curled and immaculate mustache as he regarded her over his glass of wine. With a faux aghast flare he exclaimed, “My dear woman!” He pointed over to a tall Magister on the other side of the room, “That man over there, he is handsome,” he gestured to another man, “That man over there is also handso - well …maybe not _handsome,”_ He paused and pointed to himself _,”_ But I, on the other hand, am striking, beautiful, even pretty will do if you are short on adequate adjectives.”

A true laugh bubble up from her throat – it was refreshing, “Please call me Raza.”

He returned her mirth with a brilliant and charming smile, “Dorian Pavus, at your service.” He took a sip of wine and a wicked glint entered his eye, “or should I ask if you are at my…’ _service’_?”

The euphemism was thinly veiled and they both knew it. Still, Razikale hardly found herself insulted at his cheeky greeting, “I doubt you will want the things I can provide. I have heard from several little birds that you prefer a more masculine form.”

“Oh you are just as sharp and pointy as my flashy shoulder straps.” He leaned in and pretended to whisper conspiratorially, “All self-respecting Magisters must have at least one pointy object on them, didn’t you know?”  Dorian leaned back and regarded her, “I like my shoulder straps, and I think I will like you too.”

Minutes turned into hours as the pair conversed into the night, hidden away from the machinations below. Dorian was both clever and amusing, something she infrequently came across.

 “My Lady,”

The timid voice of a slave interrupted her conversation. Irritated, Raza turned away from Dorian “What is it?”

“The Lord Archon requests your presence in his solarium.”

Raza let out a laugh and threw a dismissive wave toward the waif of a girl, “I was just finishing a conversation with Altus Pavus here. I will meet him in a few moments.”

She turned back to continue conversing with Dorian, but his expression gave her pause. He gave the wide-eyed slave a fleeting look before turning back to her. “My dear, do you really think it is wise to keep the _Archon_ waiting?” his handsome brow was pulled down into a playful frown, “I can assure you with utmost certainty that I will survive our separation.” Despite his playful tone, she could see true worry in his eyes.

She turned at a light touch to her arm. With her head bowed in submission, the servant whispered, “Please my Lady….the Archon is not in the mood to suffer disobedience tonight.” The last part was said so quietly that Razikale doubted Dorian heard it.

She sighed and snapped her fan shut, “Very well, let us depart.” She turned and swept into a flirty bow to Dorian, “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance Altus Pavus.”

Dorian followed with an equally gallant bow and picked up her hand. His mustached tickled her as he laid a very chaste kiss on her hand, “Call me Dorian, please. And believe me when I say this… the pleasure was most certainly all mine. I sincerely hope we will meet again.”

Her silver heels clacked against the marbles floors as Razikale slipped away from Dorian and quickly walked through the corridors and elven slaves scuttling out of her way when they took in her stormy expression. Her dark blue and black skirts dress robes billowed around her like some magnetic dark storm.

She curled her lip in annoyance and turned to elf known as Avelia, “Why is he in such a foul mood?”

Avelia’s head lowered even further at Razikale’s sharp tone, “He just finished a meeting with Maginster Alexius.”

“So he is sitting with Gereon, I fail to see what could have made him upset. From what I gather Magister Alexius is quiet the sycophant.”

Silence was her only response. Razikale often forgot that these elves were expected to remain silent – the poor girl probably did not even know what Razikale was talking about.

She swept into the room in a twirling mass of dark blue silk. The colour was not her favorite, but the Archon did prefer her in it. She watched as the Archon poured himself some wine, drinking it in great gulps before pouring more. The fact that he was too impatient to wait for the serving slaves was a bad sign. Perhaps Avelia was right and he was in a foul mood.

With quiet steps she walked over to where he sat by the roaring fire place. Tenderly prodding his tense shoulders and offering a gentle massage. The Archon groaned and leaded back into her touch, relaxing at her attentions.

“Have you had a troubling day?” at his sharp look of reprimand she added, “…my Lord.”

He motioned for her to sit on the lounge seat next to him, “It was tedious-as is every such meeting each year.”  He took another generous sip of wine and contemplated the fire, his voice turning sour, “They are nothing but vipers and back stabbing deceivers.”

Razikale hummed in agreement and took a spot next to him. He reached out and grabbed her hand. Surprisingly, the Archon was very affectionate when the mood struck him. Tonight it seemed that he required a certain level of comfort and understanding and she had spent enough time with the man to understand the things which pleased him. She could be tempting and vexing, submissive and plaint, and even considerate and caring when the situation called for it. Her ability to adapt had been difficult for her to reconcile with at first, but had ultimately helped her stay in his good graces. The last thing she needed was for the Archon to become suspicious of her activities - of the often mysterious and unexplained disappearances of slaves and lower ranking mages.

In a relaxed voice she asked, “Which particular snake was bothering you today?”

Sharp grey eyes pinned her to her seat, “Funny you should phrase it that way.” It was obvious from his tone that it was not funny at all.

The Archon reached into his robes and pulled out a tattered piece of red cloth and tossed it at her, “My men have been coming across this symbol quite often lately.” He continued to watch her as she looked at the fabric, “As you see, this twisted snake, within a fist, symbol is very striking. But not only that, it has become a very prominent image as of late…and I wonder if you had any knowledge of it.”

The Archon’s words were smooth and composed, but an undercurrent of a threat lingered between them. This very real danger forced Razikale to school her features into one of our uneducated ignorance. After all, what whore off of the Minrathous streets was well educated enough to recognize ancient Tevene symbolism?

So she smiled apologetically, “I do not recognize this ghastly image.” But Razikale did recognize it – it stirred an old and forgotten memory of hers.

He continued to scrutinize her face, grey eyes bright in the firelight. After a very tense moment he signed and gently took the fabric from her, “Of course you don't know” he smiled at her, and for a moment Razikale found him beautiful.

Massaging his temples the Archon inhaled, “Gereon advised me this afternoon that he would be out of Tevinter for an extended period of time…leaving the management of his affairs to his apprentice for the time being. He petitioned that this stand-in be acknowledged in the Magisterium until his return from the South to resume his role.”

How peculiar, Razikale thought. “Magister Alexius has a son, doesn't he?”

“Oh yes he does. One with a very respectable reputation.”

“And yet he chooses to leave the handling of his affairs with a previous unknown apprentice rather than his heir?”

The Archon’s smile was cold and calculating, “You can see why my curiosity was peaked. Alexius is not known for such audacious activities and yet here he is…planning to traipse around Thedas, with his son no less, and leaving his estate in the hands of a stranger.”

The Archon started to get up to get another goblet of wine, but Razikale waved him down and rose herself and went over to the side table listening as he continued with his story, “Not only are Alexius’ recent travel plans of interest, my men have also seen him traveling the streets at night in various places across Monstrous.”

“It sounds as if this Magister has gotten himself involved in affairs he would rather keep secret,” Razikale took a sip of his wine, “How _mysterious_.”

Booming laughter filled the chamber, “Raza, if anyone has a monopoly on being mysterious it would be you.”

She smiled sweetly and learned over to kiss him, “What do you plan to do about him? Will you send in a spy, perhaps bribe a slave?”

“None of those people. I am sending someone with him…to keep an eye on him and report back to me. Someone who can also be seen, but raise few suspicions.”

She wondered who the Archon had in mind. Most slaves were invisible, but they were also limited in their ability to read and write. Perhaps The Archon would send Lavicius, he was a loyal guard in the palace. Though, the scandal with Lavicius and his elven lover had endeared him to very few.

“Do you believe this approach will actually work? Magister Alexius will know that anyone you send with him will be reporting back to you. It would not surprise me if nothing comes off this moles presence at all.”

“Your lack of faith in me is startling – do you forget who I am?”

She handed the glass to him, “Of course not, my Lord.”

He took it from her and swirled its contents, “I would hope so. I plan to send someone I have great faith in their abilities to wheedle out the truth of these matters.”

She waited patiently for the answer and was most surprised by his choice, “I will be sending _you_ to Ferelden with Magister Alexius.”

Frozen with surprise, Razikale could do little more than stare at the man. This was definitely not something she anticipated facing, the fact that she would have to leave Tevinter. It was too soon, there was so much for her to learn about these modern times. Razikale went to open her mouth, but was silenced by the Archon’s finger gently tracing her lips.

“Before you open your pretty little mouth, you should know that there is no room for negotiation here. You _will_ be going with Alexius next week. Do not give me that look! At most you will be gone a few weeks while he settles his business in Ferelden.”

Frustrated she questioned, “How did you convince Magister Alexius to take me? I have no experience in the Southern lands and I am no scholar.”

The Archon shifted closer to her as he traced her jawline, “Oh, I simply told him a half truth, that my wife was back from our summer estate and that having you around at the same time was more trouble than it was worth.”

“And he just agreed like that?” Razikale could not believe the Magister would be so naïve as to believe the Archon’s excuse.

Tone tight, the Archon lifted his head from where he was nuzzling her neck, “Do not forget I am the Archon, my requests are not to be taken lightly. This is something you too often forget, my dear.” She could smell the heavy scent of wine in his breath, “Besides, Gereon seemed eager enough to have you as a companion on the trip.”

His fingers glided from her face down to her shoulders as he pulled Razikale onto his lap. Incensed by the high handedness of the man and his total disregard for her desires, she stiffened and went to lean away from him.

******

The Archon's reaction was immediate and violent. He shifted so suddenly that she was thrown under him on the lounge chair. His knees pushed painfully between her thighs as he spread her legs open in her robes. His weight pressed against her core and she was forced to bend her knees on either side of him. Lean fingers curled loosely around her neck as he brought his face down to hers, flushed in anger “Do. not. forget…” He punctuated each word with a small shake of her neck, “who you belong to.”

Despite his firm hold of her throat, it was hardly threatening. She would have no marks in the morning and she could easily breathe. It had however, caught Razikale off guard and excited her. She sucked in a startled breath when cool air hit her exposed chest – when had he ripped her dress? She watched in amusement as he feverishly reached down into her unclasped robes, a greedy hand grasping and needing her breast.

 “I may be sending you with Alexius,” his fingers painfully twisted her nipple, forcing it into a hardened peak. Soon his mouth followed, slowly sucking in her flesh as his hand trailed from her chest down past her hips. Raziakle relaxed into his attentions, sighing at his smooth motions against her body. She moved closer to his fingers as they slipped past her folds. He worked her slowly and Razikale moaned at the sensation, “but our arrangement still stands.”

Razikale was distracted for a moment when the Archon electrified his fingertips -a trick he knew she was very, _very_ fond of. It zipped straight from her groin and up into her lower abdomen, causing a delicious sort of pain. She arched her back and spread her legs further apart, eager for his touch.

“Do not think you can fuck the man.” He worked faster, slipped two fingers into her and set a punishing pace. With the pressure building, she was so focused on feeling him inside her that she did not hear her name being called until his hand stilled.

“Raza!”

Hooded eyes gazed down at her, cloud over over with desire, “You belong to me and only me. No other lover will come from this little jaunt in the southern lands, is that understood?”

In response to his demand, she tilted her hips up and squeezed her inner muscles around his fingers. Delighted in the darkening of his eyes, “Of course my Lord.”

******

Of course Razikale would take whatever lover she desired, whenever she desired it. The Archon could go die for all she cared.

 


	4. Chapter 4 - Traveling

**Chapter Four – Traveling**

 

In the end, it took very little effort for Razikale to convince the Archon to let her travel the southern lands on Magister Alexius’ little secret mission. In fact, the whole affair was surprisingly easy to orchestrate. She had always been aware of the Archon’s paranoia, but had no idea she could exploit it so easily. A word here, and whisper there, and the Archon was so riled up that he could barely see beyond his anger at the Magister. The Archon knew he was being lied to, and knew there were plans happening beyond his spies’ network.

 So of course, as the ever loyal and subservient concubine that she was, Razikale’s offer to spy on the man had been accepted. She was even given a small fortune of her own, to use during her travels – of course with a heavy condition that she return to the Archon at the end of this adventure.

Magister Alexius had been more difficult for her to convince, but as with most men, she had a way with convincing them on certain matters. It also helped that she had developed a rapport with the family over the year of her indentured servitude with the Archon estate. She could perhaps even consider the Magister’s son a friend – along with the ever-enigmatic apprentice, Dorian Pavus.

Razikale frowned as more sea water splashed against the boat and misted her face, dripping down her face and getting caught in the metal collar around her neck. Despite being allowed to come on this trip, the Archon’s trust had not been whole when it came to her; she still bore the mage collar. Despite the constricting device, her magic continued to slowly come back to her, and soon Razikale believed she would be able to destroy the trinket which brought her to heel.

Taking in the green tinted skies, she took in a deep breath of the salty air and listened to the deck hands. Most of them spoke in Common tongue, a language which she was just becoming acquainted with. Of the snippets of conversation she could understand, they had passed the most dangerous part of their journey and it would be smooth sailing from then on.

A stray lock of hair had slipped out of her hood as a particularly powerful gust of wind passed by. Slim fingers quickly moved to adjust her hood as Razikale warily eyed the sailor closest to her. While these sailors may have been hand picked by the Magister, for both their expertise with the South and their discretion, they were still sailors through and through. Uncouth and unnervingly drawn to anything that had breasts, these men tended to take notice when she or her female companions wondered up from their chambers. Unfortunately, some of her female slaves had been sent along with her, to ‘ _help her adjust_ ’ to the demands of the South. It had been a poor euphemism for ‘spying’, but Razikale had little choice in the matter, and frankly, could care less. Let the Archon keep the illusion of control – it would, in the end, come crashing down around him.

She waved over a slim youth who had been cleaning up the deck. He quickly looked around before coming closer to her and Razikale smiled despite herself. Some people were _so_ much more aware than others – knew when something dangerous was in their midst.

Once the nervous young man was a foot away, Razikale quietly asked, “Tell me…how much further until we reach the shores?”

He ducked down and blushed, “Serah, we are only a day away from the Amaranthine –,”

Narrowing her eyes, she pinned the boy with an intense look, “Amaranthine? I thought we were headed to Redcliffe?”

He shifted uncomfortably and scratched his head, “I ah…I don’t know anything about Redcliffe, we were just paid to get you quickly to Amaranthine port and then leave.”

Razikale sighed in irritation. Her substandard awakening sacrifice had held so little knowledge about the rest of Thedas, that she was often left without key information. These new countries and borders were still so foreign to her.

Irritation crept into her voice, “And how far away are they from one another?”

His blank stare was an answer in and of itself, “Never mind, never mind. Do you perhaps know where my lady servant is?”

At his hesitation, she turned to face him fully, “Well?”

With her full attention on him, Razikale could hear his heart rate pick up and could see a drop of sweat fall from his brow, “I saw – ah, more heard-like Briggs and Winters talk’n about teaching some uppity knife ears a lesson after she denied them last night.”

When the boy would not meet her eyes, Razikale knew _exactly_ what type of ‘lesson’ these men were going to treat the elf to. She took a sudden step forward and grabbed the boy’s jerkin before he could distance himself, her eyes flashing dangerously, “Where. Are. They.”

His salt encrusted hand pointed to the steps leading down into the storage room where most of their belongings were kept. With a vicious shove, she pushed the boy away and made her way below deck.

The grey light slowly disappeared as the door closed behind her. Making sure her steps were silent, Razikale wove her way further into the bowels of the ship. She did not need light to navigate the dark rooms as she could see even in the deepest of nights. She stopped and held her breath, trying to locate where these men might be. The ship was very large and she did not think she had the time to go through the entire bottom section. Closing her eyes and letting her senses expand, Razikale managed to pick up the men’s trails. She could even hear the faint pleas of her elven slave.

When she came upon the trio, there was no denying what the men had planned on doing. A tall blond man held the slight elven woman by the neck against the wall, while the other was starting to undo her top. The elf wept fat tears as she turned her face away from them, begging that they leave her alone. Not even one of the three noticed Razikale standing there in the door way. She gripped the slim dagger in her fist, the very one which she had kept since her awakening in the temple.

Like a wraith of darkness, she slipped behind the closest man, the one holding the elf. She pointed the tip of the dagger to his pulse point and grabbed his chin from behind. He stilled immediately, the cold feel of the metal a clue as to the precarious position he was now in. The other man turned to look at his now still companion, shouted in shock and stumbled away from the elf.

Her smile was sharp, “Oh, did I interrupt something?”

At her mistress’ voice, the elven woman gasped and looked up sharply. Trying to keep any dignity she had left, the elf gathered her torn dress around herself and shrunk as far into the wall as possible. Sparing the men a quick glance, Razikale turned to the elf, “Avanna, please go back to my chambers, I will be with you in a moment.”

The elf fled without a second thought and Razikale waited until she could no longer hear the woman’s harsh breaths. When she was sure the elf was gone, Razikale applied pressure to her blade and happily watched as the man squirmed, “ I would like to know why you thought this would be acceptable?”

The other man seemed to have gathered his wits, for he spat on the ground, “We was just look’n to have some fun, no harm done here.”

She squinted at the stupid oaf and slowly dragged the tip of the dagger from the bottom of the human’s ear down to the shallow of his throat. It left behind an angry looking line which started to bead bright red blood.

The man whom she held, cried out in pain, “Stupid bitc – arg!”

He gagged as Razikale tightened her grip on her captive’s throat.

The other man, Winters, she assumed, jumped forward and yelled at his companion, “Shut up Briggs! Don’t you know who she is? We can’t touch her.”

“Yes…” Razikale drawled, “Do shut up Briggs.”

Winters put his hands up beseechingly, “We was just hav’in some fun, honest. It was just a knife ears anyway – no need to get so worked up about it.”

“And you are just a human,” She pushed Briggs away from her and pointed, “Yet, you do not see me taking advantage of you. “

Razikale looked down at her blade and watched the crimson liquid slide off the metal. It was a shame, really, that it was not enough blood to absorb any power – not that she thought these buffoons had any to begin with. She flicked her wrist to rid her dagger of the swine’s blood, and regarded them with hooded eyes “Get out, and if I _ever_ see you or anyone else near any woman in this ship, I will make sure to cause you a great amount of harm.”

At their stunned expressions, she yelled, “GET OUT!”

It was with a self-satisfied smile, that she watched the men tear out of the storage room. With a sigh, she slipped the blade back into her travel robes.

‘What a mess’ she thought, ‘I don’t have time to watch over these elves.’

The race supremacy mentality was nothing new to Razikale. The humans though they were better than the elves, the Dalish thought they were superior to the city elves – and of course, her brethren _knew_ they were above all the mortals. Yet the blatant cruelty to servants and slaves was something of a novelty to her, and not the kind she enjoyed seeing. Playing her part as the mortal woman held some advantages, but this was not one of them. It seemed the centuries had done nothing to curb the human’s self supposed importance.

A thumping like noise distracted Razikale from her thoughts. She frowned and took a step towards the next storage room. The noise was constant and rhythmic, and with a grin, she realized what she was hearing was a heart beat. With a skip in her step, Razikale made her way to the crates where she knew this person must be hiding. If this was indeed an unaccounted stowaway, then no one would notice if they disappeared – and she desperately needed a blood sacrifice to boost her reserves. Perhaps only two more were needed for her to break open the enchantment of the collar – then she could get to work on restoring the rest of her abilities.

Opening her mouth, she slowly inhaled the air, hoping to pick up the scent of the person hiding. To her utmost delight, she found that not only was it a healthy male, but a mage as well. How perfect an opportunity she had been presented with! Mana-infused life force was always the most potent.

However, as Razikale stood regarding the pile of crates in question, the man’s scent solidified into an unmistakable mix of musk, lyrium and a fragrant spice which she associated with only one apprentice. The disappointment of a missed sacrifice was dulled by the pleasure of such an unexpected encounter with one of the few people she genuinely liked.

With a wry smile, Razikale moved her head just enough to let the young Altus know she knew were he was lurking, “I never thought I would see the day, where the pristine Dorian Pavus would debase himself enough to hide in a box.”

A thump quickly followed by a low grunt was her only reply. The carefully stacked crates shifted and tumbled until they littered the ground. Razikale took a step forward and peered into the largest box at the bottom of the pile. The second she saw Dorian, she paused and tried her hardest to keep a straight face.

“Not a word –,” Dorian hissed as he slipped again in his attempt to uncurl himself.

Razikale raised her hands in mock surrender as the sweaty and rumpled mage slumped out of his cramped position.

It was with delight that she found the young Altus had turned stow-away. She had been most surprised that Dorian was absent from this trip as she was under the impression that Dorian was both, a close friend and student under Magister Alexus. She had even brought the topic up one evening while dinning with the Magister and is son. But Felix had quickly shaken his head and changed the subject as soon as he was able. It seemed Dorian had become a persona non-grata.

Before Razikale could comment on the situation, the sound of rushed steps could be heard. Dorian tried to jump up but his black silk robes caught on the edge of a crate causing him to tumble. Despite her best efforts, Razikale let out a girlish giggle. Only Dorian would wear a full set of silk robes while carrying out highly illegal matters.

“Fasta vass!” Dorian yanked his robe and tore a piece of it off in his haste. They both froze when another voice joined them.

“For all that is holy Dorian, I told you to stay in the crates!”

Dorian’s shoulders fell as he gave Felix a dry look, “I would like to see you try staying in the cramped little hovel for weeks on end.” Running a hand through his now wild hair, Dorian examined his hands with discuss, “I think my grease has grease – absolutely disgusting.”

Seeming to come back to himself, Dorian straightened up to his full height and looked a Razikale with a cautious expression, “Not that it is not a pleasure to see you again my dear Raza, but I have to ask why you are down hear and how in Thedas you managed to find me?”

Choosing to ignore Dorian’s last question, she said, “I was just handling some business with a few unruly crew members when I heard some crates moving while I was passing by. It is funny, but I just cannot stand rats and thought I could deal with the little critter on my own. You can image how surprised I was to find a man instead of a rat.” She laughed a little at her own comparison.

Dorian raised a single well sculpted brow, “But you knew who I was before you even saw me – I heard you call out to me?”

  
Razikale’s smile slowly fell as she realized the predicament she was in. Her ego and game playing sometimes got the better of her and she was without a good excuse. So, opting to instead say nothing on the matter, she addressed Felix, “You knew about this arrangement the entire time? Was that why you did not want me to bring up Dorian while speaking with Alexius? Has something happened between the three of you?”

Dorian and Felix exchanged unease looks. A little hurt by the duo’s sudden suspicions, she frowned, “You have my word that I will do nothing to jeopardize you Dorian.” Razikale reached out and touched his shoulder, “We are friends are we not?”

‘We certainly better be by now.’ Razikale thought. The gods knew she had put enough time and effort into ingratiating herself with these people. And despite her best efforts to maintain a certain level of emotional distance, she did care for both Dorian and Felix – the way one cared for their most valued pet.

Agitated, Felix paced in the small space, “I do not know where to begin. My father has been acting very strange for months now; disappearing for nights on end and coming back to the estate looking both drawn and hopeful.” Felix sighed and sat down, “Not only that, he has suddenly taken a very keen interest in blood magic.”

Razikale looked up in shock. Magister Alexius had been one of the few in the Magisterium that actively avoided such magic – something that the Archon had ridiculed and scorned many a time. It was…interesting that he had just recently developed a desire to wield it.

Razikale regarded Dorian, “I take it this was the reason for your falling-out with your mentor?”

Dorian scowled, “Not only is Alexius playing with blood magic, he is experimenting with dangerous new theories. Time distortion and manipulation – the steps he was willing to take. Well, let’s just say that I could not condone his actions any longer.”

Looking quite dejected, Dorian continued, “Can you not feel how wrong this whole situation is?  Felix, your father has never been so withdrawn. And Raza, we both know you are here at the behest of the Archon. Something terrible is happening, and the further we get to Ferelden, the more my magic seems to be…off.”

Felix halted his pacing, “Yes… I think you are right about that, Dorian. The air has felt different the closer we get to the Southern lands, it is almost like something is watching us. Do you understand what I mean?”

Dorian nodded, “The overbearing weight that seems to press against your mind – especially in the Fade? I would say that I have noticed this. Like a bee buzzing near you ear, hard to pinpoint but very noticeable.”

Felix moved forward and passed a wine skin to Dorian, “You have not even seen the sky yet, amatus,” he sucked in a shaky breath, “In the distance you can see a mass of swirling green lights – like a sort of magical storm.”

“The breach” Razikale supplied.

 When she was sure she had both men’s attention, she slowly lowered herself on a box and sighed, “The crew is saying this phenomenon is called “the breach” and that all sorts of daemons come from its depths.”

“But what type of magic could unleash something like this?” Dorian wondered.

Razikale stood and went to the nearest porthole. Gazing out at the darkening skies, she could see the crackling green lightening in the distance and whispered, “Indeed. What type of magic could do this?”

 


	5. Chapter 5 - The Great, Grand Enchanter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all those who choose to read this story and for those who left comments - it is always appreciated.  
> As always, don't own anything part of the Dragon Age universe.
> 
> Warning - some violence latter in this chapter.

**Chapter 5 – The Great Grand Enchanter**

 

The port of Amaranthine was very quiet – only a few early morning fishermen could be seen setting up their boats for the day. As promised, the captain of the ‘Voyager’ had gotten them safely to port within two weeks, and had quickly left them as soon as all their belongings had been unloaded. Every foreigner was nervous this close to the South – the turbulent green skies, a harsh reminder of the horrors which plagued the lands.

Razikale shifted impatiently next to Felix, carefully eyeing her luggage cases being carried across the dock. She had successfully convinced Dorian to hide in the largest one until they reached Redcliffe. No one – not even her slaves would risk her wrath by touching her things.

Following her line of sight, Felix wondered, “Do you think we can get him to Redcliffe without anyone the wiser?”

Razikale pulled out her hair and ran her fingers through it, “Our plan should work, for the time being anyway. All my personal servants know not to touch my things, and your father… well he seems a little to preoccupied at the moment to be wondering at the contents of a whores’ wardrobe.”

At the end of the dock, a group of three men stood around Magister Alexius, heads bowed and talking in low tones. Their robes seemed to be of Tevinter make, but their arms sported a symbol which was unknown to her. It was not indicative of any of the prominent Tevinter houses nor that of the Magistrate. Razikale tilted her head and focused her eyes further and once she could make out the graphic, she jerked back in shock. It was the exact same symbol the Archon had shown her all those nights ago – the fist holding a wriggling snake.

With narrowed eyes, Razikale noted, “Speaking of preoccupied, your father seems to be engrossed in a conversation over there. Would you happen to know who those lovely gentlemen are?”

Felix squinted against the low morning sun, “Those men over there – no...I can barely even see them Raza.” He looked at her, “You must have amazing eye sight,” he commented.

Sheepishly she agreed, “I suppose I do.” Internally Razikale berated herself for being so thoughtless. Just because she was away from the watchful eyes of the Archon, did not mean she could afford any slips.

“They look awfully friendly with your father, Felix. But for the life of me, I do not remember them being on the ship.” In fact, she knew these men had not been on the ship at all – she had kept a very close eye on all those who had travelled with her.

“Father did say something about meeting some ‘associates’ who were already staying in Ferelden. Maybe that is them?”

“Associates you say?” Razikale smiled coquettishly and twirled away from Felix, “Well let us go and greet them like the proper Tevenes we are, shall we?”

A warm hand grabbed hers, “Raza! What do you think you are doing?”

She pointedly looked down at his hand and pulled out of Felix’s grip, with a sharp smile she asked, “What is it Felix?”

“You cannot just go waltzing up to these people, we have no idea who they are. We already talked about this, my Father can no longer be trusted. I just don’t know what type of people he associates himself with anymore.”

Razikale’s head fell back as she let out a musical laugh, “I am not afraid,” she took a step up to Felix and patted the boy on the face, “and you should not be either.”

When she had turned around, Razikale frowned as she looked down upon her hand. Felix had felt unnaturally hot, and she had sensed a certain…wrongness coming from the boy for several weeks now. At first, Razikale had thought it was the influence of whatever catastrophe had befallen the south influencing her senses, but now she was not so sure. Surreptitiously, she glanced at Felix and noted the bags under his eyes; a swampy purple against his paler-than-normal skin.

Her dress robe dragged against the dock as she sauntered towards the group. Felix trailed behind her, stinking of nervous insecurity, and she could barely hold in her laugh. How dangerous could these people be – Magister Alexius was known to only associate with upstanding folk.

When she stood before the quartet of mages – and she was positive they were all mages, she took a deep breath and curtsied, “Benefaris gentleman.”

The three men looked at her, faces half hidden behind their overly large cowls. She could just make out their frowns as they considered her. The tense silence was broken when Alexius steps forward and took her hand to kiss it, “Benefaris Raza.” With a nervous smile, he turned back to the mysterious individuals, “May I introduce you to the lovely Raza. She along with my son Felix are my travel companions in the South.”

The tallest man’s frown turned more severe, highlighted by the ridiculous mustache and day old stubble surrounding the goatee which covered his sharp chin, “You never mentioned a woman was accompanying you.” He snidely commented.

Another man gave Alexius a sharp look, “You know He does not like deviations from the plan,” The other Stanger took an aggressive step towards Razikale, “What is your family name, who are you apprenticed to?”

Dropping the charm, Razikale answered, “I have none sir. I am just companion in the service of the Archon.”

Her words seemed to have smoothed over some of the open hostility she had sensed coming from the men. They looked at one another and then smirked, as only a man could, “So you are the pretty little thing that has so captured the attention of our Archon. We have certainly heard about you, pretty bird.”

One of the men boldly stepped forward and lifted a lock of her smooth hair, “I can see why the Archon favoured you so – I heard he even sent his wife and heir away on your behest.”

A short rotund man laughed and patted Alexius on the shoulder, “You must have greatly pleased the Archon if he was willing to share his latest toy with you.”

The goateed man from earlier, turned to Alexius and with an arrogant sneer said “Let us hope you are not so easily distracted by this…woman as our Archon was. He certainly has become disconnected as of late, hasn’t he?”

Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Magister Alexius stiffened under the hand, “Yes…well we do have a meeting to attend, shall we be off?”

Alexius looked to his son, “Felix, please take Raza and get our rooms ready in the inn – gods only know these Southerners need all the help they can get.”

Felix and Alexius shared a look, the former wore a highly-irritated expression, “Very well father.” Grabbing her by the shoulder, Felix ushered Razikale quickly towards the caravan of slaves and luggage being led into a rather old looking wooden inn.

“Wait.” a snide voice commanded.

Razikale turned around, surprised to be addressed in such an authoritarian matter. The frowning man from earlier had turned towards her and beckoned her over with a couple fingers while speaking to Alexius, “I think having a woman attend this meeting might make things go smoother with the people here.” He gave Raziakle a once-over, “She certainly does not appear threatening.”

Alexius started to sweat, “I don’t think –,”

He was interrupted by a highly-irritated voice from the man earlier, “You are not here to ‘think’, you are here to do.” he dismissed Alexius and grabbed Razikale, “Come along, we are already running late as it is.”

With that, the group quickly moved towards a quiet little building on the side of the dock. In was woodened and looked to have seen too many winters; rotten beams lay littered on the floor and it smelled like neglect.

She was roughly deposited on a rickety stool directly beside a nervous Alexius. She smiled sweetly up at her handler, “You have me at a disadvantage Sir, may I have the pleasure of having your name?”

He looked at her with a dead expression, “No.”

As the man walked away, Magister Alexius discretely took her hand under the table, “Please remain quiet, don’t say or do anything,” he quickly looked up as some of the men left the room, “Raza it is imperative that you just stay sitting there. I think all Erimond wants is for you is to be seen – definitely not heard.”

The air was ripe with nervous energy and Razikale knew that something dangerous was afoot. Angered that she had been put in such a disadvantaged position, Razikale clenched her fist tightly around the Magister’s hand.

She felt her sharp nails digging into his palm and found satisfaction in his pained grimace, “Of course” Razikale whispered as she flexed one more time, “I will be the paragon of discretion,” she hissed.

She let go of the Magister's now bleeding hand at the same moment as two new people entered the room. One she recognized as her personal servant/slave, Avanna, and the other was a short statured eleven mage with dark brown hair cut short against her pale face. The mage looked around nervously as she was ushered to sit across from both Razikale and Alexius.

Avanna was pulled to the back of the room and forced onto a stool out of sight of the elven mage. One of the other men from earlier kept a tight grip on her shoulder as if restraining her from leaving. Avanna looked terrified and Raziakle frowned. What could she possibly have to do with anything?

Ever the gallant gentlemen, Alexius stood up and offered a shallow bow to the woman, “Grand Enchanter Fiona, thank you for coming to meet us here, we are most excited to finally meet you.” Razikale followed suit and gave the mage a brittle smile.

Despite being obviously uncomfortable with her surroundings, Fiona spoke with a calm authority, “I received a message from some of the mages staying here that there were those who were willing to help us. I am very surprised Tevinter is even aware of what is going on down here.”

Alexius settles into his chair and gestured, “Tevinter has always been interested in the Southern mages – and now is the perfect time to offer a lending hand. Alexius forced a smile on his face, “However, I must say you were definitely not what I was expecting when meeting the leader of the rebel mages. I expected someone more…”

“Human? Not a ‘knife ears’ as you are so fond of calling us?” Fiona interrupted.

Ignoring her outburst, Alexius smoothly continued, “Someone with a little more… _presences._ ”

Irritated the elf gave them both a once over catching the obvious insult. Razikale wondered what exactly Magister Alexius hoped to gain by insulting his guest, he was usually less transparent in his distaste.

Frowning at them both, Fiona continued, “I am very much aware of the North’s attitude towards my kind and those who used to reside in the Circles. Let’s cut the niceties and get back to business, why are you willing to help us? Now of all times especially, the Circle of Magi has been dissolved for months now and yet we had no support from Tevinter.”

Still sporting the insincere smile, Alexius spread his hands in supplication “Yet we are here now to support our Southern brethren. It is time we all united and join together. To do this, we came here with a proposition for you. We have resources and power that your little ‘rebellion’ could never dream of, and we would be willing to share this with all the mages that are allied with you. Just think, you would never have to fear the hand of the Chantry – we are offering a way out of this fight.”

Fiona’s sharp eyes narrowed even further, “I doubt this comes without a cost.”

Sighing Alexius nodded his head, “In that respect, you would be correct. All we ask is that the mages pledge themselves to the Imperium. Hardly any different from those we deal with back home, and it is the beginnings towards true Tevinter citizenship - certainly our offer is worth the cost don’t you think?”

Outraged, Fiona stood up so abruptly that her stool rolled to the ground, “Absolutely NOT!  I know how this story goes, I am no fool. We will not indenture ourselves to the Imperium, it is tantamount to slavery. Never!”

Having lost all patience with the Grand Enchanter, Alexius stood and leaned over the table, his knuckles white against the dark wood, “You are the fool here! What can you possibly achieve without our help!” HE gestured wildly, “You are like rats scattered across the landscape, fighting for even the tiniest morsel of food. We are offering you real power here – the chance to be safe and secure.”

“SAFETY?” Fiona bellowed. Razikale watched in stunned fascination as her face turned an angry red, “What sort of security are you offering us? The chance to be collared once more, for us to exchange one master for another? I will never accept this and neither will the others.”

“Your resistance is foolish and your illusion of security is downright repulsive. How long do you think it will be before the Chantry musters the remaining Templars to deal with your ilk? Our master has real power and He is willing to share it with those who serve him well.”

Razikale looked sharply at Alexius. Just who was he talking about – what was going on here?

Gathering her sodden cloak around herself, Fiona stood to her full height, “We are done here. This was a waste of my time.” Taking a step towards the door, she turned back to Alexius and sneered, “Don’t contact me or mine again.”

Alexius gave a defeated sigh and then gestured to the two men hiding in the shadows, “I suppose you have given me no other choice in the matter.”

Razikale wearily watched as the two-cloaked figured blocked the doorway. One rushed Fiona and forcefully threw her into the middle of the room. Avanna, who had been silent this whole time, let out a scream at the sudden violence.

A bright purple ring flashed around the Grand Enchanter as she tried to leave the ground. With a huff, she bounced off of the force field, “WHAT IS THIS?” she screeched, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Alexius moved around the table and motioned to the man behind Avanna, “You have left us with little choice in the matter – we really do require your compliance.” He let out a long-suffering sigh, “If you remember, we did try to reason with you. But, like most of the Southern barbarians, you just do not see reason.”

The hairs on the back of Razikale’s neck stood on end as she watched Fiona struggle against the magical binds. She saw a flash of movement in her periphery and turned quickly to see that the man Alexius had called Erimond, hold a knife to her slave’s throat. Avanna sat as still as stone trying not to press into the blade sitting tightly against her skin. Razikale watched as the man viciously pulled the elf back by her blond hair and exposed her neck.

Just as she was about to jump up, a solid hand landed on her shoulder. She felt a man lean over behind her shoulder and whisper in her ear, “Do not move.”

The threat was very clear in his voice. With a resigned sigh, Razikale relaxed back into her seat. There was no way she could possibly take all these people with the thrice-damned collar still on. She would without a doubt end up injured and there was no point is wasting perfectly good mana reserves.

Large brown eyes looked at her beseechingly as Razikale stared at Avanna. Tears streamed down the elf’s face as she reached out towards Razikale. Did this woman really think she would save her? At the cost of her own safety? Most likely, Razikale realized. She had, after all, developed a reputation for being a fair and kind mistress. But in this situation, the risk was far too great. What did this elf have to possibly offer her to justify the danger?

Nothing.

Shuttering herself off from her doomed slave, Razikale turned her back on the woman. At her obvious dismissal, the elf let out a plaintive cry.

Razikale watched as Magister Alexius nodded his head and two things happened simultaneously. The men who had cast the paralysis glyph started to chant, and the cries of Avanna were suddenly silenced.

Razikale did not have to look back to see what had happened to the elf, she could smell the blood and feel it’s inherent power in the air. Alexius started to chant as well and it had an immediate effect on the Grand Enchanter. She stopped her pathetic attempts to break out of the circle and grabbed her head in agony.

She groaned out, “I won’t do it – you can…cannot make me.”

But they certainly could. Razikale knew what spell these men were using and there was nothing this mage could do to stop it. Especially, since she had heard these Southern mages never used blood magic and therefore could not defend against it.

Alexius raised both palms upward towards the sky and finished his spell. The Grand Enchanter stilled and slowly rose from her crouched position only to stand idly in front of the Magister. Her once sharp eyes, glassy and unfocussed.

“Fiona, my dear, I need you to take a very important message to the person they are calling, “The Herald of Andraste.”

Fiona robotically turned towards Alexius and muttered back, “Must send a message to the Herald of Andraste.”

  
Alexius continued to coach the woman on what to say to this “Herald of Andraste”, a name she was utterly unfamiliar with. What did Alexius want with this person? And more importantly, why was he doing all of this?”

After various instructions had been passed on to the Enchanter, Razikale watched as the three men from earlier, escorted the Grand Enchanter out of the shack. Once they had left, Alexius’ shoulders dropped as if a great weight had been lifted. He swiped a shaking hand across his sweaty brow, and brought his fist to his mouth, “I can’t do this…” he brokenly whispered.

The man had obviously forgotten she was even in the room, for when she spoke he jumped, “What can’t you do?”

Magister Alexius spun and considered her with a shattered expression. Her opalescent eyes flashed as she took in his wan face. Seemingly coming back to himself, he frowned severely at her, “Why are you still here Raza?”

At her stubborn silence, he slammed a hand into the nearest wall, “You should never have even been on this trip!”

He spun back around and yelled at her, “Keep your questions to yourself and just get out!”

Smoothly, Razikale stood from her stool and moved around the table considering the human in front of her.

Utterly unconcerned with his apparent rage, she calmly walked up to her dead slave lying forgotten in the corner. She took in the paper white skin of the elf’s face frozen in death. Avanna’s little face was twisted into a frightened scream, the deep gash across her throat a clear sign of her cause of death.

“What are you doing girl? I said leave.”

Razikale slowly raised her head and stared at Magister Alexius. Her cold eyes reflected the wavering candle light as she stared at him, unmoving and utterly unaffected by his order. She narrowed her gaze at him, angered beyond belief at his audacity.

Who did he think he was? Taking what rightfully belonged to her, and assuming he could order her around. The thin veil of subservience was slowly fraying in the edges and Razikale did not know how much longer she could continue the charade.

Sensing something was obviously amiss, Alexius took a step back as Razikale brushed passed him. When she had just passed him, she quickly whirled around and boldly pushed his chest, forcing him into the wall. Startled, Alexius’ anger was replaced with shock as he gaped at her.

“Take something of mine again…” she leaned up and whispered in his ear, “And I will take something of yours.”

She left the Magister slumped against the wall.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was well passed midnight by the time Razikale was left alone in her chambers. After the little incident in the shack, Magister Alexius had kept a close eye on her and insisted that she join them for the evening meals – a way in which to keep her in line she supposed.

In retrospect, perhaps threatening the man had been the wrong choice. But damn it, she hated it when people took her things!

Felix had been openly curious about the little morning soiree, but it was painfully obvious Alexius would rather his son stay ignorant of the horrors which he had performed. Horrors which Razikale was all too willing to share with the young man – of course, only if she was able to get him out of Alexius’ grip.

Razikale considered the parchment in front of her, and tapped the quill against the desk in contemplation. How to begin her letter?

She had promised to keep the Archon well appraised of her travels and findings - a condition of her release. By now, he would expect the first letter to be sent and the last thing she needed was for him to send someone after her. No, she needed him and his suspicions firmly in rooted in Tevinter and out of her affairs. There was certainly something going on down in the South. Something powerful and intriguing.

Razikale wrote,

 

_Dear Archon,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I have the delightful news of letting you know, that we are safely landed in the South – in a particularity dreary place known as Amaranthine. I don’t know why I expected more, but your description of this decrepit little village is certainly accurate._

 

She continued to detail the highly uneventful ship ride over to the Coast – omitting, of course, any mention of Dorian. But she realized the disappearance of her slave would have to be addressed:

 

_I do, however, have to regretfully inform you that one of my slaves (Avanna) fell ill during the voyage. Unfortunately, she died soon after we came ashore._

Razikale smirked at her own half truths,

_But worry not my dear, there are plenty of other elves to carry my belongings._

_I was most surprised that, along with Alexius, it seems some of more of our kins men are here as well. They were certainly welcoming when we landed._

‘About as welcoming as an angry druffalo’, thought Razikale

_Once we landed, I was not included in many of Alexius’ dealing, but I heard a name being mentioned in conversation: Erimond. Are you familiar with this fellow? I felt that I should tell you, that he is most familiar with Magister Alexius. And you know how I am, I hate being disadvantaged when it comes to new people – and I find myself most intrigued by this man._

 

Razikale smiled as she continued to write her tale. The old priests used to always praise her for her creative stories. A skill she would use to the fullest when dealing with the Archon. The last thing she needed was for him to worry about her, or worse yet, loose his trust in her.


	6. Sojourn in Redcliffe

**Chapter 6 – Sojourn in Redcliffe**

 

_Dear Raza,_

_Your last letter was late in coming to me as the weather on the Amarathine Sea has taken a turn for the worse. I have heard that you made it safety to Redcliffe and have settled in very nicely. Some say our men have settled a little_ too nicely _, but I am sure they must be exaggerating the level of influence Alexius in wielding down in that padunk village. Of course, you would tell me of any interesting developments, wouldn’t you?_

Razikale snorted into her wine glass as she continued to read the letter.

_I find myself unusually busy with all sorts of squabbles as of late – more so than I have ever dealt with as acting Archon. These disputes, while numerous, are hardly worth note. Yet the sheer number of them is baffling, and I find myself confused on how many of them even began. There is a disquiet here, as if we are all holding our breath…_

_However, I digress from the reason of this letter. The family name of ‘Erimond’ is both unfamiliar and utterly unremarkable. I say unremarkable because that is what the man and his family have become over the years. This man you spoke of is known as “Lord Livius Erimond” hales from city province of Vyantium. My contacts there have assured me he is a Magister of moderate wealth, but has brought no other prospects into his family name. He is the fourth generation of half-rate mages to be born into house Erimond. His father passed away three years ago, and Livius has been away from the Magisterium since formally taking his father’s seat. I can confidently say that no one remembers his name – which is all the more interesting, don’t you think Raza? What could he possibly be doing in Ferelden?_

 

Growling in irritation, Razikale crumpled the damp parchment in her fist and threw the letter into her fireplace. It flashed bright orange before floating away on blackened ashes. She had been patiently awaiting news from the Archon for weeks now, and what did he have for her?

Nothing.

With a quick swallow, she finished the rest of her wine and slammed the chalice down. She was sure Erimond was a key player in whatever game was going on here. The fact that he was _supposedly_ an insignificant magister just did not fit with the man she had witnessed all those weeks ago in Amaranthine. Could it be that the Archon was lying to her?

A bitter chuckle left Razikale as she moved forward to grab the bottle of wine. She would be utterly unsurprised if he was. After all, is that not what she was doing as well? And such games as these were nothing new to her – intrigue had been her bread and butter for centuries. But now, in this broken and twisted world she found herself awaken in, she had no real power or influence. Razikale no longer had true allies despite her ties to the Archon (and she most certainly excluded him as a potential ally, one could never trust politicians – not truly).  Most importantly, she was without a way to gather information as her spy network had long died and turned to dust. This disadvantage was new to her, she had never been in a situation such as this and it changed everything.

It was something Razikale knew she had to fix – and quickly.

As she went to pour more wine into her chalice, a mirthful voice interrupted her, “A second glass already Raza? I did not take you for a lush.”

Despite her ire of being reprimanded like a child, Felix was correct. It was only early afternoon and it would be in bad form to be less-than-sober this early in the day. She flexed her hands and slowly put the wine bottle down, she was still coming to terms with the fact that people would ever dare contradict her. Razikale had to remind herself that it was not Felix’s fault she looked too young to properly hold her liquor.

Felix sat comfortably in the chair beside her bed. With his arms crossed and relaxed, the years seemed to melt of his face. He must have felt her studying him and looked up with a tired smile which exaggerated his dark circles, “From the way you so enthusiastically destroyed that letter, I take it there was no good news?”

She looked out the window which over looked the garden – a beautiful room the Aarl of Redcliffe had more than graciously provide to her. After the entire town and castle had been taken right from under him, that is.

Her sensitive eyes squinted against the bright sunlight, “No, it was not bad news _per say_. Just absolutely nothing useful.”

Felix leaned back and sighed, “It has been extremely difficult to get anyone to talk with us Raza, not with the undercurrent of fear everywhere. People are just trying to make it day by day, and with the Archon an entire nation away, did you really think he would know what was going on here?”

“And you think he is totally ignorant of the situation?” She asked bitterly. “I did not think you were that naïve Felix. I find myself disappointed.”

Clammy hands clutched her shoulders and spun Razikale around. She instinctually tensed against the feel of Felix’s grasp; whatever was ailing the young man made her skin crawl. It was like an itch just beneath her skin – a malevolent hum of magic tinged with decay which left Razikale on edge. All she wanted to do was shove him away.

With a reprimanding tone he said, “That was not very nice Raza.” He smoothed back her hair and Razikale was surprised at the almost maternal gesture, “What has you so on edge?”

 _‘You’_ Razikale thought.

But Felix’s effect on her was not the only thing plaguing Razikale’s mind. Weeks had passed by incredibly  slow while she and her fellow Tevenes lingered in Redcliffe. With no clear objective and nothing to keep her occupied, Razikale was close to loosing her mind. The townspeople avoided her and no matter how often she tried to question Alexius, no amount of flattery or charm could get through to the man. Perhaps threatening him in Amaranthine had been the wrong move after all.

And once Grand Enchanter Fiona had returned to Redcliffe (in all her dazed glory), all Magister Alexius had been focused on was the impending arrival of the man people called “The Herald of Andraste”.

Magister Alexius had gone beyond the point of interest and had become obsessed with this man – a man who was nothing more than exaggerated glory at this point. She could care less about this man who was supposedly sent by the bride of some fanciful god.

“I despise inactivity Felix, and that is all we have had since we came to this little hovel of a village. YOUR FATHER –,” she took a bracing breath and lowered her voice, “You father…is obsessed Felix. We are wasting our time waiting upon some upstart Treveyln. Why are we even here?” she huffed.

“I know this Raza.” Felix grabbed her hands, “You’re frustrated, but how do you think I feel? My father, who has never touched blood magic in his life, is now suddenly willing to kill people, to partake in terror.” He gestured angrily to the village, “He has all these foreign mages under his thumb and all he can do is focus on this one single man! I am just as confused as you are. And let us not forget the magic he used to get us here.”

Felix swiped his hair back from his brow, “Maker Raza, he USED time magic, something I thought – thought utterly impossible. If Dorian had not been there to vouch for it, I would have thought I was going insane.”

The wine bottle was unceremoniously yanked from her table and tipped back as Felix guzzled the drink, a brilliant maroon line dripped from his lips and down the column of his throat, “And this Fiona? You said she was some Grand Enchanter from the South; a leader of the mage rebellion? Well I ask you, where is that woman now? Certainly, I would have expected more…I don’t know, more _anything_ from that elf. You mentioned that she was spirited, yes?”

Raza flashed back to the woman’s fiery refusal of Alexius’ help, “Yes…spirited and completely righteous.”

Felix lifted an unimpressed eyebrow as he wiped the wine off his lips, “Well, she is certainly not that anymore.”

“No.” Raza conceded, “She is most definitely not.”

Several breaths passed before either one of them moved. Felix with his anger and confusion, stewed in silence as he watched the lazy flames of her fireplace. Razikale could understand his helplessness as it was not far from her own situation – Felix’s father was now a man he could no longer relate to, could barely understand. The fundamental principals and rules which had governed his life until that point where now nothing but fragments of the past. The foundations for which he had based his life on were shattered and all that was left was to push forward.

He had to adapt.

And so did she.

Felix slowly moved from the corner and uncrossed his arms. He gently put down the bottle and steered Razikale towards the bed and she let herself sit elegantly on the woolen blanket. It was an itchy rough piece of cloth, but _apparently,_ it was the best Redcliffe had to offer. Not that she was under any illusion the castle servants were eager to cater to their new Tevinter residence. When the servants were not avoiding them like the plague, their eyes would be full of distrust and revulsion.

a perfectly reasonable responses to having one’s home essentially robbed from under them. However, Razikale could not see her fellow Tevens leaving anytime soon, and should these servants wish to avoid being the next sacrifice in a blood ritual, they had best keep their opinions to themselves. These village people thought they were so crafty, but Razikale could hear what others could not. She could hear the kitchen maids whisper about the ‘Tevinter abominations’ and the stable boy’s ambitious dream of beating the Teviter guards.

‘What malice’, she thought, ‘So much hate just bubbling under the skin.’

She wondered how long it would take before this hate bumbled forth and spewed out in a crimson sea of blood. After all, skin was so thin and it was only a matter of time.

A tentative whispered came from her left, “Raza?”

Razikale started violently, “Sorry.” Brows furrowed she massaged her temples, “I am just a little… distracted is all. Please continue.”

Félix’s concerned eyes took her in, “Are you sure? You look a little tired.”

She was tired. Tired of being in Felix’s presence; it was starting to grate on her nerves. It was like a hum was constantly in her ear every time he was around. Recently, if she stayed around him long enough, she would then suffer almost crippling headaches.

Waving away his concerns, Razikale smiled, “No no, please continue. Perhaps you were right about the wine after all – nothing good can come from having so much, so early in the day.”

Clearing his throat, Felix pointed out, “Some of my Father’s personal guards were very social last night.”

With a bland tone she replied, “Oh really?”

Undaunted with Razikale’s bored look, Felix continued on, “Yes, they were most definitely in a social and rather _sharing_ mood last night. It seems you are not the only one to forget how many cups you can handle. They had had so much to drink, that by the end of the night, they did not even realize I was in the tavern with them. They were rather distracted with a couple pretty mages who had just come to Redcliffe on Fiona’s request. Besides regaling these fine Southerners with their tales of valor, they also started to spout some interesting tales about a group called the ‘Venatori’.”

Eye sharp, she jerked her head up in surprise, “That is a word…I have not heard in a long time.” She shifted and leaded against the wall, “Are you saying these strange new guards we have been receiving are called the Venatori?”

“Yes. My father’s men were upset they were ordered to work with, and I quote, ‘the creepily masked men’.”

A full-bodied laugh left her then, “Your father’s men are quite articulate, aren’t they?”

With a wry smile, Felix replied, “I doubt my father hired them for their intelligence, most likely to keep their mouths shut.”

Quickly Razikale stood up and bundled her long locks into a loose bun. She had learnt early on in her first day at Redcliffe, that her hair length and colour was something of a novelty; she did not feel like sticking out at the moment. Tucking the dark strands under her hood, she made for the door, “I am going out. I need to visit Dorian to see if he was able to gather any other information.”

Sighing in defeat, Felix asked, “Do you think it is wise to go out alone? No one likes us here Raza, and no one wants us around.”

With a dismissive wave, she muttered, “No one has the gall to do anything.”

The afternoon air was crisp as she left the castle. Her breath fogged in front of her as she meandered down to the docks. Sun filtered through the fiery red leaves of the oak trees that lined the walk way casting a beautiful glow to any that passed under them. No one stopped to talk to her as she made her way towards Dorian’s hiding place. A small amused smile spread across her lips – of course no one would suspect a wayward Tevinter Altus would be squatting in a Chantry.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she quietly jogged to the back of the Chantry and jumped onto the piled crates. With a grunt she hoisted herself up to the small hole at the base of the second floor. It was just enough room for a person to squeeze through. A plume of grey dust settled around her feet as she glided across the floor. With a sneer, Razikale lifted the hem of her dress robes attempting to avoid any dirt. The last thing she needed was for Alexius to start asking questions about her dirtied state.

Despite the mage’s insistence that staying hidden was of utmost importance, Dorian was no where to be seen. The little derelict room was silent with the only noise coming from the bustling market place down the path. She spied Dorian’s neatly made bed roll and shrugged, it looked like he had left for the day.

Razikale cracked her neck in impatience. Where had that little Altus run off too? He was supposed to be keeping out of sight – not off galivanting with the locals. She sighed and turned back around, this had been a waste of her time. She jumped straight to the ground forgoing the crates this time. It was not like she needed them anyway and no one was around to comment on her abilities.

What to do with herself now? She contemplated trying to meet with Fiona again, but that mage had been under constant supervision since her return from Orlais. Razikale had some pull with Alexius’ guards, but the Venatori were a whole different matter. Despite her best efforts to gain information, which ranged from polite inquiry to coquettish promises, her elevated status as the Archon’s ‘companion’ had no effect on them.

She leaned up against the statue of Andraste with arms crossed and an utterly bored expression on her face.

“Miss?”

Razikale turned at the sound of the hesitant term. Standing by her side was a small little girl, perhaps five years old with curly brown hair tied back in a sloppy bun. Bright eyes gazed up at her with the typical innocents and frank openness of youth.

The small child lifted a hand and pointed to the stone Andraste statue which Razikale lounged against, “You should not do that, Miss. Ma always told me that we should… ra’y…resp..”

Seeing the small girl struggle with the word, and eager to get the conversation over with, Razikale supplied, “Respect?”

The girl grinned excitedly, “Yes! We should res..respect the Lady’s image.”

It took a moment for Razikale to understand what this little person was going on about. Unmoved by the girl’s enthusiastic reprimand, she lingered against the statue. With a raised brow, she asked “And why ever would I care about that?”

An immediate response seemed to be beyond the child, Razikale’s answer must have truly shocked her. Though she doubted many people openly mocked the acting religion of the time.  The girl’s little eyes become wide with confusion, “But..but, she is the Maker’s bride. Ma’ said –,”

“I am sure your mother has said many things child.” Razikale lifted herself off the statue and squatted down to the child’s height, “I do not believe in this Maker of yours, so his apparent wife is of absolutely no consequence to me.”

Mouth wide, the girl considered her with absolute horror, “Then who do you believe in?”

Razikale slowly lifted her hand and brushed a stray strand of hair behind the girl’s ear, “I know this can be very strange for you. All you have is your Maker…,” she patted the girl’s cheek and a slow smile creeped onto her face, “But I hope to change that very soon -”

“LIDEA!” a shout echoed out from behind a building, “LIDEA WHERE DID YOU RUN OFF TO?”

The girl swung her head around and smiled excitedly, “That’s my ma!”

She waved over at a portly woman heading their way. The courteous smile which graced this woman’s lips quickly turned into a frown when she saw Razikale’s expensive black dress robe with golden cuffs.

The woman rushed to her daughter’s side and pulled the child by the arm, “Stay away from my daughter!”

With a huff, Lidea tried to wiggle out of her mother’s arms, “But ma - ”

“NO buts young lady! I told you to stay away from those filthy foreign mages. Their kind can’t be trusted.”

The girl’s argument was cut off as the woman rounded the corner and out of sight. Anger coursed through Razikale’s veins as she watched the woman storm away. Some of her anger leaked into her magic and purple sparks flew from her fingers. The satisfying discharge of energy was quickly overshadowed by the deep painful pull of the collar as it reigned in her mana.

As Razikale was rising from her crouch, an odd sensation creeped up upon her which had nothing to do with the collar. The strange tickling sensation quickly escalated into a violent tug behind her navel. All at once, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she took in a startled breath. What was she feeling? It was like nothing she had ever come across, like the very fabric of this world was being torn apart.

Quickly spinning on her heel, her wide opal eyes searched the surrounding area. The few people who passed by her gave Razikale a strange look, but how could they not tell something was very wrong? They walked around like nothing was happening when there was something, very clearly, trying to force its way through the veil.

Razikale closed her eyes and tried to center herself. Whatever this disturbance was, it had to be close if it was affecting her so much.

There! It originated north of the castle, close to where she could remember the entrance gate being. Without further thought, Razikale pulled up the front of her long robes and gathered them into her fist. Running would get her noticed by the guards, but she walked as fast as she could. Sometimes dodging the slow-moving horses that lingered by the road.

The closer she got to the entrance, the more intense the feeling became. At one point, Razikale had to stop and brace her hands against her thighs, taking great gulps of air. It did not hurt, but felt foreign and invasive. The collar at her neck hummed in response to the sensation.

Loud and worried voices filled the air as guardsmen could be seen running away from the entrance. But why would they be running away? Her answer came as she rounded the last parapet of the castle. In the air by the gate, a bright green pulse of colour lingered several feet off the ground. The air boiled and churned as if an invisible hand was stirring the area, causing it to twirl. The bright afternoon light was transformed into a sickly sparkling green as deformed lightening seemed to strike out from a central spot.

It was the fade – of that much she was certain.

She dropped her robe to the ground and stared, mesmerized, into the glowing vortex. She could feel the fade as it licked at her skin sending every nerve aflame. For a few sweet seconds, Razikale felt like she had before – when she had been whole in her power.

So transfixed by the sight and feel of the fade, she failed to notice the other group of travelers fighting around her. There was a yearning deeply routed in her soul, which seemed to awaken at the very sight of the green lights. Everything would be as it should be – yes! All she had to do was get to the fade tear. Beyond that Razikale did not know, but this certainty permeated her entire being and the pull was irresistible. She slowly stepped towards the fade tear and reached out a slim hand towards it. If only she could touch it…if only –

The thought died when she stepped on a marked piece of ground. Her chest tightened uncomfortably as the air swirled rapidly past her as Razikale was unceremoniously flung towards the other side of courtyard. Her mouth tasted like iron and ozone, and in that instant Razikale recognized the signature of the magic - she had somehow just been pulled into the untamed time magic of Alexius.

Unprepared for the increase in speed, she tripped on the hem of her robes and stumbled hard to the ground. Her hair fell into her eyes as she rolled with the impact. Dazed by both the fall and the rift’s influence, she shook her head to clear out the ringing noise. Someone yelled in the background and suddenly a thin barrier snapped around her form. Only then did Razikale notice that she had wondered into an intense battle between a group of people and the demons which seemed to spring up from the ground.

Her arms shook as she slowly lifted herself off the ground and hastily brushed away her now dirt clogged hair. It took a moment to clear her mind from the confusing fog of the time warp, but soon she found herself shocked at the people in front of her. She had expected the Tevinter guards or even the elusive Venatori, but instead there seemed to be a strange, yet effective group fighting this chaos.

A hulking grey figure, with protruding horns, roared as he slammed his shoulder into a terror demon. Her brows furrowed she tried to remember a time that she had ever encountered such creatures, but could not. A child of stone quickly picked up a cross bow and with a wicked smile aimed it over her shoulder. The arrow whizzed passed her ear and struck something large behind her back – she felt the vibrations of it as it fell to the ground. Tentatively she touched her fingers against the slow dribble of blood which slipped down her cheek. The arrow head had been very sharp.

Despite being shot, whatever was behind her did not seem to want to die. A deep rumble started somewhere behind Razikale’s back, slowly turning more menacing. She knew that sound, had encountered enough rage demons to recognize its signature ‘voice’. The only problem was that she had no weapons, and most importantly, lacked access to most of her magic.

Strong fingers grasped her upper arm and heaved Razikale away from the recovering demon. Soon large ice spears protruded from the head of the beast, sparkling in the afternoon sun. Not only was the spell beautiful, it had also been very powerful. Powerful enough that it caught her attention immediately. The magic had not been flashy, in the grandiose way the Magisters seemed to favour, but rather through sheer elegant simplicity. A single ice spear should not have been fatal to a demon and yet this man had been able to fell it in one flick of his staff.

Though when she looked back, Razikale was surprised to learn that the mage was no human man at all, but rather an elf. His clear grey-blue eyes were sharp as they searched her face, “Do you require any healing?”

Shocked by the soft accent, it took a moment for Razikale to respond, “No…thank you.”

Despite his carefully articulated words and formal posture, Razikale could still very clearly hear the accent roll through his words. An accent, she was under the impression, should no longer have been around. In her time, there had been few who spoke Elvhen often enough (and with the correct pronunciation) to even form an accent. Yet, hundreds of years later, here was a man with such an accent, where none should have survived.

How interesting.

The elf continued to examine her face, languidly taking in her features and stopping pointedly at her collar. He frowned at it and asked, “Are you sure you do not require further assistance? I can imagine this must have been a shock to you.”

Another irritated voice cut in then, “What exactly are you doing here anyway? Are your crazy, what were you thinking, walking into our fight like that?”

The elf’s fingers tightened slightly on her arm at the interruption and it was the only sign of his irritation. She gently stepped away from his grip and turned to face the angry human, “My apologies, I - ”

“Who are you anyway?”

Why that little bastard. If he would just let her get a single sentence through, then maybe she would be able to answer his questions. As it was, she absolutely did not feel like answering any of his blunt questions, maybe if he learned some respect…or at least tact.

Defiant, Razikale crossed her arms and raised an imperious brow, “And who, exactly, are you?”

It was quiet for a moment, like the man really had no idea how to respond to her question. A booming laugh came from the grey…thing in the back.

A huge axe bobbed against the creature’s shoulder as he sniggered, “Well shit boss, thought everyone around here knew about you. You know, with you being the Herald of Andraste and all.”

The elf next to her shifted, his arms crossing behind his back, “Contrary to popular belief, there are people who do not hang on every word of the Chantry.” the elf replied in a sarcastic tone.

“Yes, but you would have to be three miles underground not to notice this craziness” the dwarf said as he gestured to the large swirling green sky.

“WHATEVER!” The Herald threw his hands to the air, “We don’t have time for this, let’s go. We have Grand Enchanters to meet, probably people to kill.” He spun to look at Razikale, “And you!” he pointed a gauntlet covered finger in her direction, “You stay out of our way, you hear?”

It was with great effort that she resisted the urge to break that offending appendage. He did not wait for the others’ responses, just went to the nearest guard and asked for directions to Fiona. She had to smile at that – he was sure to have a nasty surprise when he finally met the Grand Enchanter. For wherever Fiona went – Alexius was sure to follow.

“Well you heard the man, let’s go Chuckles” the dwarf patted the elf on the back, “Perhaps we can even get a room for the night, actually have a real bed for once.”

She watched as the mismatched group walked briskly though the courtyard into passed the castle. She had a strong feeling she knew exactly where they were going. After all, Magister Alexius had been fastidious in his planning for this very event and had gone to considerable efforts to keep the tavern empty this evening.

Fade-tear and strange elves aside, the most confusing thing about this encounter was the utter lack of forces escorting Herald. If he was so important should he not have had a full retinue of guards and servants? Only a few inquisition scouts had been seen around Redcliffe but they had mostly stayed to themselves.

The Herald was most in a disadvantageous situation here, unknowingly walking into Alexius’ web. Would the Magister have the gall to attack this man? Had it been Alexius’ plan all along? She contemplated her many questions as she weaved through the towns folk back towards the Chantry.

***

Dorian was casually flipping through a grimoire when Razikale pulled her bedraggled self onto the balcony. He raised an imperious brow at her less than pristine appearance, “Where have you been? Off playing with some Ferelden farm boys?” he licked a finger and flipped another page with a flourish, “Where you as they say, ‘rolling in the hay’?”

Tired of being mocked, Razikale reached over and grabbed the grimoire out of his hands. At Dorian’s indignant exclamation, she tossed the tome in the corner of the room, “There has been an interesting development. It seems the _Herald of Andraste_ is currently on his way to meet Magister Alexius as we speak.”  


Dorian shot up from the floor, “Really?”

At her nod of confirmation, Dorian swore and quickly reached for a piece of paper and quill. While he hastily wrote a note, he asked “I need you to take this to Felix as soon as possible.” He quickly glanced up and noted her unhappy expression, “Please Raza? I need to meet with this man and it is not like I can just waltz into Alexius’ meeting – regardless of how dashingly handsome I am.”

She disdainfully glanced at the paper, “Why do you even want to meet with him? I did not take you for the altruistic type Dorian, so why get involved?”

Dorian looked at Razikale like she was crazy, “Altruistic? _Hardly._ You really have not seen much of the South, but I promise you my dear, it is pure madness out there. The Chantry is without a leader, the Templars have gone rogue and now, suddenly, a mass of mages have willingly given up their freedom – to _Tevinter_ of all places. How can this not ring a thousand alarm bells in your head.”

Dorian did have a point. But did she really want to get involved in this growing problem? Without access to her full powers and already being so reduced, her weakened state put Razikale at risk. Furthermore, she saw no reason to stop the disruption in the first place. She was not a fan of this new world, what with it’s hate and distrust of magic. The Chantry – don’t even get her started about that abomination of faith. Mages were there to serve man, were they? Ha!

And yet…there seemed to be something out there trying to take control of all the mages in Ferelden. It was a lofty goal and a veritable show of force to come into Redcliffe so completely.  The Venatori too, were a point of concern. She could remember briefly encountering this faction many centuries ago, but they had been under the direct control of a select (and slightly zealot) group of Magisters. So, who were the Venatori serving now? And most importantly, what did this individual want?

Decision made, Razikale delicately folded the note and slipped it into her robes, “I will take this to Felix - out of the two of us, he is most likely not to be questioned. With any luck, Felix may still be in his room and not left for the tavern yet.”

“Do you think he will be able to deliver it to the Herald without Alexius noticing?”

She hummed in consideration, “He is a smart boy, I am sure Felix will think of something to get past his father.” She smiled to herself, “maybe we can even use his strange sickness to our advantage?”

Before Dorian could reply, she waved to him while leaving, “I may not think meeting this Herald is a smart idea, but I would be greatly disappointed if you were to get caught. Dorian, do make sure you stay safe and out of sight.”

 


	7. Chapter 7 – The Taking

**Chapter 7 – The Taking**

 

Dorian was pacing in his room when she finally pulled herself up through the landing. Recently, he had taken to pacing in thought, so this image was no surprise to her. Ever since Dorian had his clandestine meeting with the Herald, he had been hopeful that the Inquisition would aide the mages in their plight at Redcliff. Dorian was not a man of patience – and the meeting had been two months ago.

There had been no word from the Inquisition.

Dorian was a disheveled mess and his eyes were more bloodshot than she had ever seen. The minute he spotted her, he exclaimed, “Did you hear what that idiot did?”

Taken aback by Dorian’s sudden anger, Razikale frowned at the man, “Whatever are you talking about?” She sat down on his bed roll and deepened her voice in mimicry of his own, “Oh, it is _so_ pleasant to see you this evening Raza. Thank you, _again,_ for risking your life to come and keep me company while I linger in this place. Please have a seat.”

“For fuck’s sake, Raza!” Dorian threw his hands in the air, “Just, for ONCE, could you cut me some slack here?”  He slumped down into the corner chair, “I just overheard some of these bumbling townsfolk say that the Herald has made a formal alliance with the Templars. He has decided to take _them_ to try and close the breach, rather than use us mages.”

Her eyes widened in genuine surprise, “Why would he do such a thing? Mages are the only ones who could possibly muster enough mana to close that…that abomination in the sky. And he literally has a whole host of mages, sitting here – doing nothing.”

Dorian sneered, “Let’s not forget…we have a whole host of mages here, doing nothing, _and_ under the control of a supremacist cult.” The sarcasm practically oozed out of Dorian as he spoke, “This is not a recipe for disaster. Not. At. All.”

She just could not understand why the Herald had picked the Templars, “You did tell him about this supposed Elder One the Venatori have been whispering about, haven’t you?”

“Tell him? Gah! Felix and I both explained the very real threat the Inquisition faces here, both from Alexius and this Elder One. But did he listen to us? No – he took our warning and shoved it back in our faces. I understand that he may not be a mage, but he has to understand that only magic can correct the errs of magic.”

She had no argument against Dorian’s logic – magic really was the only thing that could solve whatever disaster had befallen this place. So, it further confounded Razikale why the Herald of Andraste would risk using Templars over mages. While having little to no direct experience with Templars (there had been no such Order while she had reigned with the other Old Gods), from what she had gathered, these individuals suppressed magic rather than enhanced it. Furthermore, wasn’t this Inquisition supposed to be an entity separate from the Chantry? If so, why would they align themselves with a group so entwined with the dogma of the Chantry like the Templars?

As she was about to voice these thoughts, a thumping noise came from outside of the building. Already agitated, Dorian startled at the noise and in response his hands irrupted into bright red flames. Razikale slowly stood up from her seated position and gripped the dagger hidden up her right sleeve. In an attempt to identify the unexpected guest, Razikale delicately sniffed the air. Her breath stilled in recognition at the sharp scent of man, silk…and sickness. It seemed Felix had come to visit them after all.

She lowered her shoulders and released the handle of her dagger, slim fingers nostalgically caressing the ancient jewel encrusted weapon. It had been with her since the old days, when worshipers flocked to her beckon call.  A dark head of hair soon emerged and Dorian extinguished his flames at the sight of his lifelong friend.

Felix panted as if out of breath, “Thank the Maker you’re both here,” as Felix turned to look at her, she noticed his panicked expression, “We need to get out of here right now. There is a large group a Venatori which have just arrived from the Hinterlands. I don’t know what they are doing here, but it looks like they are rounding up all the mages.”

“When did this happen? I don’t recall seeing another host of those men come into Redcliffe?” she asked.

Felix sighed, “They just arrived about and hour ago, and with an impressive number of wagons and weapons.”

Forehead wrinkled in confusion, Dorian asked, “But why would they need wagons at this hour of the night?”

Felix hastily grabbed Razikale’s discarded shawl and draped it on her shoulders. Turning, he answered Dorian’s question, “My guess is that we are being moved, and whoever wants us to leave wants it done under the cover of darkness. When I was coming up here, most of the slaves we brought with us, and even some of the castle servants, were being awakened to work.”

Seeing Dorian open his mouth to ask another question, Felix raised is hand to silence him, “Unfortunately, I was not able to get any answers from the servants, least I catch the attention of my father and he start asking why I was up at this time of night. But the point remains, most of the castle is being awoken as we speak, and I really think we should, both, head back to our rooms before someone notices we’re gone.”

“Very well then, we will have to finish this conversation another time.” She patted Dorian on the way out of the hidden room.

Ever the gentleman, Felix jumped to the ground first and extended a hand to Razikale. With great trepidation, she grabbed his hand and had to suppress a shudder at the sensation of his skin against hers. Everyday, the disconcerting hum of death grew in him, cloaking his aura in darkness.

By the time they made it to the courtyard, the entire area was bustling with servants and slaves running to and fro. It was an odd thing to witness as usually at this time of night, only the owls and crickets were awake. Bleary eyed mages were congregating near the back of the courtyard and slowly being organized into different groups. The Venatori were everywhere, almost doubled in number from the previous days.  Torch light glinted off their spikey armour as they silently corralled the confused mages into wagons.

“Young Master!” a slightly rumpled elf ran to Felix and bowed hastily. Razikale recalled that this was his house slave, the favoured one Alexius had decided to bring on this ‘trip’.  “Your father is looking for you Master Felix. He insisted you come to him immediately - immediately he said.”

“Alright Paelos, take me to father.”

Razikale went to turn away from the pair, but as she did so, the slave spoke up again and addressed her instead, “Magister Alexius wants to see you too, My Lady.”

She shared a look with Felix before he shrugged and started off to follow the elf. With no other choice, Razikale followed Felix as he weaved through the busy courtyard towards the castle proper. People hustled past the trio as they made their way deeper in to the castle, and not even one of them looked up from their assigned task. Despite the hectic atmosphere, everything was so organized; the Venatori kept everything moving smoothly and with precision.  

The room they were ushered into was cool and dark. Only half burnt candles illuminated the sparse room which had a reception table and a few chairs. It was an odd space; utterly utilitarian without the trappings of nobility which could be seen elsewhere. Alexius stood in the corner of the room and wrung his hands – it was the only outwardly sign of his nervousness.

When Felix saw his father, he asked, “What is going on?”

“Nothing. Nothing, please Felix…” Alexius seemed to just notice Razikale then, “…and Raza. Please have a seat.”

She was sure Alexius was lying to them (well, more so than usual), there was something definitely wrong. She had never seen the Magister so worked up; she could smell his perspiration and hear his heart frantically beating away in his chest. There was no chance to ask any questions as three people strolled into the room showing obvious superiority. Two Venatori guards (covered in ominous looking head gear) and a slim blond mage walked in, the mage took a seat across from the trio as the guards flanked the only exit. Razikale took in this unfamiliar mage and her severe face with dirty blond hair pulled back tight into a bun.

 _‘Well’_ she thought, _‘Looks like things are about to get very interesting. Maybe I will even get some answers.’_

Alexius briefly smirked at the woman and inclined his head, “Calpernia,”. He spat out the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

The woman ignored Alexius’ less than gracious greeting and instead stared at Razikale intently before turning back to Alexis, “Why is this woman here? You received orders that all mages are to be prepared to depart.”

Alexius fired back, “An exception needs to be made for her, she is the Archon's companion and representative here. She is to stay with my son at all times.”

It appeared his demand had little impact on the woman. Calpernia shook her head in annoyance and pointed and angry finger at Alexius, “ _You,_ would presume to give orders to the Elder One? Our Master has already been generous enough with you, making concessions on your travel requirements and granting reprieve to your son. One exception was already made, DO NOT push your luck any further or you may find your son becomes involved as well.”

Alexius jumped from his seat in anger, “You dare threaten my son!”

A clink of metal and the sound of swords coming out of their sheaths was the only noise in the room. Calpernia lazily waved her hand and the guards stepped back into their previous position. Calpernia’s only response was to simply stare up at the fuming Magister with sharp grey eyes.

A moment passed and there was a clear message there – but Razikale was not sure exactly what the woman was trying to convey. Whatever it was, Magister Alexius deflated and slumped back into his seat, seemingly defeated.

Felix opened his mouth to speak, but his father cut him off in an exhausted voice, “What about the Archon? She, above all others, is favored by him. Raza cannot just simply disappear.”

“What about him?” Calpernia replied, “The Archon holds no power here, and whatever position he wields in Tevinter shall soon be dissolved anyway. The Elder One is not concerned with the commands of mortals, least of all those who have let Tevinter fall to ruin. Nor will he tolerate _insubordination_ and questions to his authority,” she stressed, pointedly looking at Alexius.

The whole situation was rather bizarre to Razikale. What exactly was going on here, and who did this Elder One think he was? From the sounds of things, there seemed to be a God complex developing right under their noses. She snorted under her breath, what a foolish thing to think, that this Elder One was mighty enough to be a God. Though, she was smart enough to keep her opinions to herself for the time being. Razikale was in no position to defend herself should she offend someone.

Felix sprung from his seat and turned to his father, “What is the meaning of this? What exception is being made for me and how does this affect Raza?!”

Again, the two guards came forward, but this time they roughly pushed Felix back into his chair. Alexius shot them a dirty look before putting a calming hand on his son’s shoulder and whispered, “Be silent. What I am doing is for our future - your future. You must understand this.”

Alexius gripped his son’s shoulder in a desperate plea for cooperation. Felix unwillingly nodded his head and shot her a worried glance.

In a last attempt at an argument, Alexius turned back to Calpernia, “The collar! She has a mana surpassing collar on. Only the original keyholder can remove it, and with it still in place Raza is of little use to anyone.”

Calpernia waved away his concern, “The collar is a trivial matter, one I am sure our Master can easily overcome. I have told you, countless times, the limitation of mortals have no bearing on The Elder One.”

At Calpernia’s signal, the guards came forward to Razikale and grabbed her upper arms.  Just as she was being hauled out of her seated position, Felix quickly grabbed her hand, “Please be safe Raza.”

She had no chance to respond as the men yanked her forward at the first sign of hesitation. It was surprisingly difficult to separate from Felix and see his wide scared eyes follow her out of the room. Over the months in Redcliffe the trio had formed a unique bond, one that she had not originally set out to make. In the beginning, they had simply been a means to an end, a way to gather information into the inner workings of Magister Alexius. But now, now they were comrades united in thought and action. It was a novel experience for Razikale as never before had she let mortals become so close to her, to become more than amusement, but rather to become…friends.

She hoped she would see them again.

As they turned a corner down ominous looking halls, Calpernia glanced at her, “You have questions, I imagine.” Calpernia continued, “And the Elder One has answers, but you will only get them if you obey. Am I clear?”

‘ _Crystal.’_ thought Razikale as she frowned at the man on her left. They had been hauling her arms roughly as the tips of her toes barely grazed the floor. Eventually they stopped outside of the imposing wooden doors which led into the grand reception hall. The guards let go of her arms then and stepped back against the wall.

This was her chance to run, she was probably faster than these fools in the heavy armour. Though the mage was an unknow factor – how fast could she attack with magic?

For all her faults, Calpernia was no fool. Seeing the defiant light enter Razikale’s eyes, the mage quickly turned to her and asked, “Do you _really_ want to risk that, taking a run for it here, in a Venatori controlled castle?”

Undaunted by Razikale’s stubborn lack of response, Calpernia continued, “There is nowhere for you to go, little slave.”

“I AM NOT a slave. And anywhere is better than here.”

Calpernia smiled condescendingly, “A slave is a slave no matter the elevated position – I would know. And where would you run to? Back to your Archon, back to becoming his play thing again? Do you aspire to be nothing more than a slave? Do you not have your own wants and desires?”

 _‘I have plenty of those’_ she thought, _‘and right now, I desire to rip off your head’_. Her anger simmered brightly under the surface and Razikale had to fight to contain her sedateness.

Oblivious to Razikale’s murderous thoughts, Calpernia said, “There is no place better than right here, with your fellow countrymen – true citizens who would see the Imperium restored to its former glory. Only the Elder One has the power to free you from your chains, and if you let us, all your fears can be put aside under the care of our new Master.”

This woman was obviously a zealot – clear as day. Now having dealt with her fair share of zealots during her time as a reigning God (mostly those who worshipped Dumat – he certainly attracted unbalanced followers), Razikale knew there was no reasoning with these people, not unless she could prove this Elder One as a fraud and restore herself. But, if she could have this thrice-damned collar removed, then maybe it was worth meeting the Elder One and playing along with this farce.

She just hoped she was not stepping into too dangerous of a situation.

At Razikale’s nod of assent, Calpernia turned and opened the doors. She followed behind the woman and kept her head down in proper respect, she had no idea what type of person she was going to meet. Also, with her head angled just the right way, she was able to get the layout of the room without the others knowing – if she could play up the uneducated slave, all the better.

Luckily there seemed to be no other guards nor any servants lingering in the room, unusual but useful if she needed to make an escape. At the end of the room was only a solitary table littered with brightly burning candles. What was most shocking though, was the figure looming in front of the table, delicately handling an object hidden from view. It was the tallest person Razikale had ever seen, easily topping nine feet tall. No human ever grew to that height.

What in Thedas was it?

A malevolent voice drawled out, “What did you bring me now Calpernia, another slave for my ranks? She should be with the other mages.” The voice was so deep and unnatural that she could feel it in her very bones. She clenched her hands at the feel of it as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

This was no human – at least not any longer.

Even with its back turned to them she could practically taste the contempt and arrogance ooze out of the speaker.

Calpernia bowed low, “She will be put there as soon possible My Lord. However, she must first be made able to serve.”

Razikale risked glancing up just at the same time as the….man, turned around to regard her. Only… this was no man, but rather a beast beyond her comprehension. Her breath hitched as she took in the grotesque spikes of red glowing lyrium jutting from his body. His face….his face was half melted into some headdress and his eyes burned with some strange power.

In all her years, Razikale had never seen anything so unnatural – so malignant.

Her body had become a block of ice, frozen in absolute shock as she beheld the beast. The eyes – the eyes were familiar to her. Her hands shook in horror and colour drained from her face when the memories came back to her. The monster…no this had been a man once – she could recall the years of his service to Dumat. Could remember watching him, from afar, as he handled Dumat’s devout followers. Sethius – _yes,_ that had been his name. And if she recalled properly, he was also one of those foolish Magisters who contemplated entering the fade all those years ago.

And it had been _years_ – centuries even. So, what was he doing alive when he ought to be nothing but ash and dust?  What had Sethius become?

“I see…” she shivered at the familiar accent, much like her own, “And who is it that she is tethered so tightly to?”

With her head bowed and long hair obscuring her face, Razikale fervently hoped Sethius would not recognize her. She had a feeling it would be very detrimental to her health to be recognized as an Old God, especially one with access to almost none of her original power. It had been ages passed since she had seen him, so perhaps there would be a chance to avoid recognition now. And he had been a devotee of Dumat’s and had not been part of her Temple priesthood.

“The Archon, my Lord” responded Calpernia with utmost deference.

The creature laughed grandly at the notion, “That grandstander? Well, we shall have to take care of this won’t we? I will not tolerate the will of another interfering with my orders, no matter how insignificant they are.”

She could feel him getting closer and shied away from his approaching body. The air seemed to get tighter and heavier as he neared her, and her skin started to itch. It was the same sensation that Felix caused, only much more intense. In her mind she could almost see the blackness and death as it manifested in his mana.

Razikale jerked violently as his overly-large clawed hands flicked her hair over her shoulder.  The Elder One hummed in thought as he considered her hunched form, “Those in power will tremble when I finally take my stand against them. You shall be free of these false chains and will serve your new God, your rightful ruler.”

Before any other words could be spoken, strong fingers curled around her collar. They were sharp and cruel and she could feel the tender skin of her neck tear in response to his actions. Then heat came, a burning magical force that even Razikale could grudgingly admire as supremely strong. Far stronger than what she could yield at the moment. Neck bared, she could do nothing but stand there as he applied his force against the restrictive magics.

There was a hiss of steam and then a resounding click as the collar unlocked at fell to the floor – now nothing more than a useless piece of metal. Whatever joy Razikale had from being freed was violently cut short as she promptly doubled over and threw up on the floor. Bile filled her mouth as the sudden influx of power overwhelmed her. The rush of mana was excruciating; like a thousand needles prickling along her skin. She continued to dry heave as her ears thrummed in sync with her heartbeat and her skin became overheated. Despite her best efforts, Razikale found herself stumbling to her knees and clutching her chest in a futile effort to remain conscious. Too long had she been cut off from her reserve of power, though it was still only half of what she should have had.

As she screamed in agony, The Elder One exclaimed, “Behold! The power of your new Master and God. Bow as is required.”

Kneeling on the ground, and with a swaying upper body, Razikale begrudgingly looked up at the creature, glad to see no hint of recognition in his features. She would never bow to this Abomination, would never acknowledge him her God. SHE WAS A TRUE GOD - He was nothing more than a pretender grasping at heights far above him. If only she had her true strength, she would put this man back in his place!

Eyes narrowed she tried to think of something to say, but found her mind distracted by the waves of mana now spreading through her limbs. Calpernia came to Razikale then and, with surprising tenderness, grasped her shoulders as helped her stand. Taking a bracing breathe Razikale tried to center herself – she had to get under control.

Just as Razikale obtained a steady stance, the ground rumbled and moved. Calpernia exclaimed in surprise as she staggered towards her Master, eager to protect. Movement out of the corner of her eye caught Razikale’s attention as she watched the previously hidden object roll along the wooden table and out of its silken bag. It continued to roll right off the table and into a darkened corner. No one seemed to notice this, too engrossed with the madness of the earthquake. But Razikale didn’t care about the earthquake, didn’t even care about the monster in the same room as her. The minute she beheld the orb, it triggered some deep seeded memory, so old it was like a hazy image in the back of her mind. She could recall a name – Foci. Yes, that was it! This object was called a Foci and her instincts told her it was of great importance. In her mind, she could imagine it glowing brilliantly with magic, yet here it lay darkened and quiet. Even though it must have been dormant, she could feel the thrum of potential power, could practically taste the centuries of knowledge it possessed. Razikale could not simply leave it – it had to be hers.

Suddenly a rush of mana and a deep thunderous book seemed to flow violently threw the air and castle itself. She gasped at the feel of it, and watched as The Elder One reared back in surprise. He moved swiftly to the nearest door and yelled for the guards, “What has happened?”

The nearest guard looked ashen faced as he stumbled out a reply, “The breach…it’s… it’s gone!” he pointed out the nearest window.

Without a second glance, the Elder One rushed out of the room and around the corner of the wall to behold the night sky. “What has that fumbling fool done now?! Calpernia, come here!”

At her Master’s call, Calpernia ran outside the room. Even though they were not far from Razikale, she was now out of sight, as even the guards were distracted. This was the chance she had been waiting for! Rallying around what little strength she had left, Razikale slid across the room and grabbed the Foci making sure to wrap it back in its silken bag. The minute she did, the pull of it seemingly diminished, like the bag somehow dampened its magical signature. She could hear Sethius ranting at Calpernia about the Herald and his blasted Inquisition.

Good - he was still busy then. She smirked, Sethius had always been know to pontificate when the mood struck him.

Now she faced a dangerous problem – how was she going to get out of the room? There were no windows and the main door was not an option. Time was also running short, The Elder One could be distracted for only so long. From experience, she surmised there had to be a servants’ entrance somewhere hidden out of sight.

And she was right. On the left side of the room, her eyes picked up on a small crack which ran along the wall. Taking a chance, Razikale ran across the room as silently as possible and gently pushed against the wall. A mechanism clicked and the wall opened before her, leading into a narrow tunnelway.

Quickly she ran passed the door and closed the hatch. It caused a soft thud to echo in the space and she cringed at the sound. She had to move now!

A minute later she found herself outside of the castle, the tunnel stopping abruptly at the back of the kitchen entrance. She could hear servants milling about, but she seemed to be hidden from view. Razikale crouched down and crawled on her hands and knees towards the cover of some hay piles.

“What is this?!”

The Elder One’s angered yell could be heard throughout the castle and spurred her to move even faster. So fast in fact, that no one would have believed she was just an average human at her display. But now Sethius knew she was gone and she had to get away from that beast as soon as possible. Could not risk him realizing what she was or that she now had possession of the orb.

“WHERE IS THE ORB!?”

Too late it seemed.

Most people still had their eyes glued to the now calm skies, startling only slightly at the Elder One’s rage. Baffled and excited that the breach had been dispelled, many hugged and cheered, giving thanks to Andraste and their Maker. It had certainly worked in her favour to avoid detection; with everyone so distracted Razikale could swiftly move between buildings. Her heart raced painfully as she hid behind carts and crouched by old buildings. The longer she stayed here, the higher a chance the Elder One would find her. She shivered at the thought of ever seeing that man again.

The forest looked like the best option, she had to get into the trees – the Venatori would never think to look for a woman out in the wilderness at night. Taking a breath, Razikale tentatively rose from her position, head just cresting over the brick wall as her fingers tightened around the silk bag. Her delicate ears could pick up the sounds of the Venatori running out of the castle. So far, they seemed to be concentrating only on the main town square.

This was her chance to flee, she had to run now.

Quick as lightening, she sprang from her position and jumped over the small wall, clinging tightly to her stolen bundle. She pumped her one arm as her hair streamed passed her, it’s inky colour blending into the night sky. Her heart was pounding faster than ever before, both from fear of The Elder one and in response to the wild magic now coursing her veins. Her eyes flashed a brilliant whitish purple as she searched the darkness for any threat.

Seconds later she found herself surrounded by old trees and thick bushes. All she had to do was stay out of sight, at least until she could move again. With shaking legs Razikale collapsed to the ground, head hung in exhaustion. This was too much, this was all too much.

Calpernia was right about one thing, she really did have nowhere to go.

Razikale tentatively lifted the fabric off the darkened orb and with shaking fingers, traced the swirling design. Razikale could only recall weak memories of the object, like an imprint on her early mind as a young and impressionable spirit. She knew, at one time, the orb had held great significance to the Elvhen people. Though what this artifact had been originally created for, she knew not. What did that matter, though? It was hers now, and it would be the key to the restoration of her true potential.

 “ARGGG! BRING ME THAT THIEF!”

The enraged yell echoed across the castle and deep into the surrounding forest, cutting into Razikale’s thoughts. The nights’ animals stilled, going silent in the presence of such malice and power. Razikale thumped the back of her head against the tree as her chest heaved. She slammed her eyes shut against his voice, tears leaking down her dirty face. For the first time, she was well and truly afraid.

What was she going to do?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, thank you again for your support and reviews – they are always welcome. Just in case there is some confusion, here are some points for reference:
> 
> The Herald sided with the Templars instead of the Mages  
> The Breach was just closed by the Templars – that is what caused the wave of magic to go across the lands and distracted the Elder One.
> 
> The next chapter will be extremely long (comparable to the others) - so there may be a delay in getting it out.


	8. Chapter 8 - A free Ride to Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Thank you again for reading this story and taking the time to leave comments, it is always appreciated. I am back from my self-imposed hiatus and shall be updating this story about every two weeks.

**Chapter 8 – A Free Ride to Haven**

 

Shaking like a leaf and huddling in the dirt, Razikale quickly realized she had to calm down if she wanted to live. Closing her eyes, she took two deep cleansing breaths and tried to center herself. It was a struggle, especially with her newly awakened mana coursing through her veins. Razikale still felt like she was aflame, but now she could think beyond the intense sensation.

 

She was angry and irritated with herself – her impatience and fear had caused her to play her hand too early. But she could no longer keep the charade alive with a very real remnant of her past pulling the strings. She was lucky – yes, very lucky that the Elder one had not recognized her face.

 

There were only two options left to her now. She could run back to Tevinter and try to worm her way back into the good graces of the Archon, or she could try to run away as far as passible further into Ferelden. Several more Venatori guards rushed passed her position and into the main part of the court yard and she hunched further into herself. Either way, she had little time to decide on a course of action.

 

But resuming her previous role as favoured slave and concubine was no longer appealing, especially with the resurgence of her power and now broader understanding of this modern Thedas. How could she possible explain the loss of her collar, let alone her obvious and very intentional neglect of her assigned spy duties? The Archon must have realized by now, that her vague letters and late replies were no mere accident. It had been months since she had written.

 

And that man did not suffer insubordination.

 

Fear of a death aside, the Archon no longer possessed what she needed. He had been a tolerable play thing, but it was now painfully obvious his influence was limited to Tevinter – and even then, this new usurper seemed to have stolen power right from under his very nose. No, the political machinations of Tevinter paled in comparison to what was happening here in Ferelden. And she knew better than anyone, where there was strife – there was opportunity.

 

Razikale’s lip curled in grim satisfaction. It may not have been an ideal situation, but this chaos might just fit into her plans. Who would possibly care to note her activities when all eyes where riveted on the newly minted Herald of Andraste. She just needed to be patient and find a place to lick her proverbial wounds.

 

Razikale needed a place to unlock the secrets of this foci.

 

The Elder One’s furry was almost a palpable thing, hanging ominous in the night air. Those whom had still been asleep were now very much awake thanks to the creature’s angry cries of furry. When the last armored men ran past her position, she quickly ran to the back of the old Chantry and hoisted herself up on the dilapidated landing. The heavy clank of the orb an ever-present reminder of her precarious position.

 

Sweaty hands hoisted her shoulders over the remainder of the landing, and a Dorian’s frantic voice filled the air, “What is going on Raza? What was that Maker forsaken voice?”  


Raza pushed off his arms and searched the room frantically, “Where are the packs?!”

 

Dorian let himself be shoved out of the way. Confused he asked, “Didn’t you hear my question? And wait…why are you covered in dirt?”

 

Running across the landing, she picked up her travel bag and quickly shoved her remaining items into it, “I don’t have time for this Dorian, where are the horses being kept?”

 

Her arms were roughly grabbed again, “Raza you need to slow down and tell me what has happened.” Dorian quickly looked around, “Where is Felix?!” his voice had risen to a hysterical level at her wild expression.

 

“Felix safer that you and I are, at the moment. He is with his father, and you know how protective Alexius is. But enough of that, I need to leave as soon as possible! Now, WHERE are the horses?”

  
“The horses are – wait, what could you possibly want with the horses?” at her fevered gaze, Dorian reached over and held her arms even tighter, “Where are you going? Raza, talk to me!”

 

She reached out with shaking fingers and tightly grasped Dorians hand, “I met the Elder One… he is beyond comprehension. Twisted beyond all recognition.”

 

“Was that who I heard earlier, it did not sound human.”

 

She cringed as she imagined the Magister’s face, “You are right – he most definatley not human.” She turned away from him then and continued to search the room for her things, “I must go Dorian – I can’t…I can’t stay here and be a part of this abomination’s plans. He knows my face now too, and I ran from him.”

 

“What does he want?’

 

Razikale frowned in contemplation, “I think he wants all the mages here under his control. Beyond that…I do not know. But what I do know is that this place is no longer a safe place to be. You need to leave as well, Dorian – he is probably having every inch of this place searched as we speak.”

 

“Where will you go?”

 

“I don’t know! Fasta Vass! Anywhere as this point - Orlais, Denerim, anywhere that is far away from here.”

 

Dorian’s dark brows furrowed in anger, “Don’t be foolish! You’ve only been to two places outside of the Archon’s estate and now you suddenly think you can go on the run in a foreign country? You will be eaten alive – either by the animals or the lovely country men who call this place home.”

 

Her eyes flashed dangerously, “Then _what_ do you suggest?”

 

“Let me come with you,” Dorian beseeched, “We can go to Haven – I hear that is where the Inquisition has started to organize itself. It could be a safe place for us - many refugees have already fled there, we could blend in, stay out of sight.”

 

She took in his stiff posture and stubborn gaze, “Are you sure you want to do this? This is no mere mortal we are dealing with. I think he means to do very real damage to me…and to you, if you become involved.”

 

A sharp nod and Dorian soberly stated, “I am sure. I am with you Raza.”

 

A notion, Razikale was sure, Dorian would come to regret, “Then we need to leave –, “

 

A deep horn blared in the distaste. It vibrated her very bones and sent a chill through her body – it was a war horn.

 

She glanced one last time around the room before she turned back to Dorian, “Come, we need to leave right away.”

 

The pair sprinted away like two thieves into the night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Calpernia POV**

 

“WHERE IS THE WHORE?!”

 

The unlucky Venatori guard cowered under Corypheus’ bellowed question. The other men in the room shuffled further away from man in question, hoping to blend into the stone work.

 

“Master, we…were unable to locate her–”  


A resounding crash filled the room as the wooden table was flipped into the wall. Sensing her Master’s wavering restraint, Calpernia moved from his side and uncrossed her arms while scrutinizing the head guard, “She must be somewhere. Where have you searched?”

 

A brief look of relief flashed on the man’s face at Calpernia’s interjection. He gulped and quickly explained, “Everywhere. We have searched the Chantry, the castle, the stable, even the docks –”

 

“What did you say?”

 

Confused the man repeated, “The…the docks?”

 

“No.” Calpernia tilted her head to the side in contemplation, “You said you searched the stables…did you look to see if any horses were missing?”  


At his dismayed expression, Calpernia guessed that he had not thought that far in advance. She opened her mouth to ask another question when a vivid flash of red lightening filled her vision. An anguished scream tore from the guard as he crumpled to the ground, eviscerated from belly to neck. His warm blood splattered against the floors - it was a gruesome sight.

 

But not a surprising one.

 

Corypheus gazed upon his men as he lowered his clawed hand. With angry swirls of magic still coating his long fingers, he pointed out, “His death was guaranteed the moment he failed me. Find this thief who dare defy me and bring back what was stolen. It has only been a span of an hour – how difficult is it to locate this one woman?”  


No one dared to raise their gaze beyond their boots for fear of being singled out. Calpernia sighed and turned to her Master, “I will personally see to finding her. Like you have said, even on horse back, the woman could not have gone far.”

 

Corypheus responded by lazily waving the Venatori agents away, “You will do no such thing. Your talents are better put to use herding these wayward mages under my banner. Make sure the are armed and ready for the attack - it is time we made our way to Haven. I want Alexius’ time magic ready and waiting for me before the hour is done. We have wasted enough time as it is, the spell will be used tonight.”

 

Calpernia bowed, but asked, “What of the woman?”

 

A cruel smile split his deformed mouth, “I have just the pet to fetch her.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She gripped Dorian tightly around his waist as the horse pounded across the ground. As if sensing the duo’s anxiety, the animal ran like a demon was after it.

 

The cool Ferelden air whipped her hair across her face and she had continuously brush it aside just to see where they where going. The orb bounced against her hip as the satchel swayed with the horse’s movements.

 

Dorian had said it should take them several nights of hard riding to make it to Haven – she hoped the horse could be pushed to complete the track in three. Razikale was relying solely on him at this point – Dorian was right, her knowledge of Ferelden was abysmal at best.

 

She thought it odd that no scouts nor any soldiers had been sent after them, for surely by now the stable hand must have realized one of his horses was stolen. And despite their haste, they had not made it very far from Redcliffe castle; she could still see the twinkling lights of the courtyard.

 

Razikale’s breath caught as an odd sensation rippled across her body. It must have had the same effect on their horse, for the animal suddenly let loose a shrill scream and reared back and its hind legs. She tried to stay on the horse, but when Dorian lost hold of the reins, both stumbled to the ground in a heap of expensive silks.

 

“Arg!” she shouted as her back hit the ground. The weight of Dorian was solid as it rocked onto her chest. Heaving, he quickly rolled off her and apologized. Another wave of some strange mana pulled at the pair again and Dorian’s attention was ripped into the distance as his mouth fell open in shock. Understanding flashed in his eyes grey eyes.

 

“He wouldn’t attempt it – not with this many people. Not to encompass such a large space...this is madness!” Dorian was mumbling to himself, but Razikale could hear him just fine.

 

She quickly got up and followed Dorian’s shocked gaze. However, she could see nothing out of the ordinary, not even with her superior eye sight. What could possibly have shocked Dorian into such a stupor? Was it the stirrings of the strange magic which had just passed them by?

 

Obviously, Dorian was aware of what was going on, frowning she asked, “What are you talking about Dorian?”

 

He didn’t answer her right away, instead he grabbed her hand and started to run further away from the castle, an almost mad look in his eye, “We have to leave Raza, we need to be far away before he finishes the spell!” Dorian breathlessly shouted.

 

“Dorian –”

 

At her warning tone, Dorian looked back, never once breaking his stride, “This is time magic, can’t you feel it? It leaves a very particular sensation on the skin, and I _would_ know, since I helped develop it.”  He paused to take a breath, “It is madness, but it looks like Alexius is trying to send the entire area through a time warp, and the force of the magic has spread over this entire area in preparation. The fact that we can even feel it means we will be pulled into this crazy scheme as well!”

 

That was impossible, a normal human could never have enough mana for such an endeavor. Sensing her disbelief, Dorian nodded, “I Know it sounds crazy, but you must trust me, I would know that magic’s signature anywhere. If we get pulled into this time warp, we will probably be pulled apart and suffer some sort of unimaginable death! I don’t know what Alexius was thinking, no man has that sort of power!”

 

Razikale felt a sinking sensation as she realized that Dorian was, indeed, correct. She too recognized this particular flavour of magic; like ozone and salt. It was the very thing that had taken her by surprise by the rift at Redcliffe courtyard. No singular man had the power to fuel such a drastic spell, but they were not just dealing with a normal man, now were they? No, that monstrosity calling itself the Elder One, must somehow be feeding the spell – but what was his goal?

 

Razikale did not feel like finding out.

 

She pumped her legs faster, over taking Dorian’s longer strides. Soon it was she who was pulling him along. Irritated with Dorian’s body’s limitations, she tried to push some stamina into him, but unexpectedly her magic coalesced into tiny shockwaves of electricity. Startled by her lack of control, Razikale accidentally let go of Dorian’s hand.

 

Dorian stumbled and tripped over his on feet, “What was THAT!” he pushed off the ground, “Raza…did you just use magic?”

 

Razikale reached over and tried to steady him, “I am sorry – ”

 

Dorian ignored her apology and harshly pulled back the neck of her robes, fingering the area where her collar used to be, “How did you get the slave collar off?”

 

She paused to answer him, but their distraction turned out to be their downfall. Not nearly far enough away from Redcliffe, they felt it when Alexius’ time spell rushed across the earth and into their bodies. As if she had been punched, Razikale swayed and blacked out at the impact of the spell. Her closed eyes squinted from the onslot of sensations: pulling, sinking, rushing. It was as if she was being pushed through thick water, yet at the same time being pulled by the hair.

 

A wholly disconcerting experience.

 

It seemed like minutes, but in reality, it must have been only seconds. When Razikale opened her eyes, it was to the sight of Dorian bending over and emptying the contents of his stomach onto the snow. She herself felt the grips of a nausea, but fought it off.

 

After gathering her wits, Razikale could fully grasp the situation. Not only had they been pulled into the time spell, but somehow, they must have travelled a great distance. Time magic mixed with transportation spell – she would have been impressed if she were not in such a precarious situation.

Instead of the dark forest of the Hinterlands, what lay before them were snowy mountains and a massive frozen lake. She could see a town in the distance, a proud Chantry building occupying the center of it.

 

Haven – somehow, they had made it to the outskirts of Haven.

 

An urgent horn blared form the small village, and she watched as the large wooden doors were slammed shut. It was not surprising for her, when she turned around, and saw the veritable army of mages marching through the mountain pass. The soldiers too must have seen the army heading their way.

 

The Elder One was making his debut.

 

Razikale eyes widened when she abruptly felt the presence of another creature. A creature she was well acquainted with.

 

A dragon!

 

But she could tell this was no ordinary beast, something was very wrong with it; it’s signature unlike any other dragon she had ever encountered. But Razikale could not deal with this right now, especially not with Dorian there to handicap her. There was no way he would ever survive a fight with a Dragon and she could not afford to split her limited energy between protecting the man and herself.

 

She squinted into the darkness. Judging the distance to Haven she came to the decision to send Dorian there. He could make it if he ran fast enough. Turning she yelled, “Dorian, you need to run North, down that slop there.”

 

“WHAT?!”

 

“There.” She grabbed Dorian’s arm and pulled him to the edge of the outcrop, “Run down that pass as fast as you are able! You will be able to reach Haven and get to the Herald. You must warn him of what is heading his way.”

 

Dazed he asked, “What do you mean? Raza, I don’t understand?”

 

Razikale pulled on Dorian’s arm again to get him to look around outcrop they had appeared on. The army had made enough progress that the pinpricks of their torches could be seen by his weak mortal eye. Dorian exclaimed at the sight, “Is that an ARMY!? And ARMY of mages?”

 

“Yes.” Razikale confirmed, “The very group we were trying to outrun at Redcliffe. Now, you need to go as fast as you can, down to Haven and warn them.”

 

Dorian shook his head, “Not without you Raza, you need to come too.”

 

She could tell by the stubborn set of his shoulders, that there would be no reasoning with Dorian; his mind was set. But Razikale was tired of being told what to do, tired of being argued with at every fucking turn. How hard was it to follow a simple order?

 

Too fucking hard, apparently.

 

She didn’t have time for this, not with the looming threat of a dragon heading their way. Razikale closed her eyes and put her mind to the spell she needed. It had been a _long_ time since she had used blood magic to subtly manipulate people.

 

Her eyes quickly flashed iridescent purple “GO!” she put all her focus into that single words. Pushing her will into Dorian’s veins to use his own blood against him. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening to him. A look of hurt and betrayal written clearly on his handsome face.

 

So, Razikale had not been subtle enough with her magic.

 

What a _shame_.

 

Regardless of Dorian’s awareness of the situation, she watched as the spell took hold of his mind. Dorian’s pupils dilated as he made an about face and ran off into the darkened mountain pass in a mad dash towards Haven. She could see the gates in the distance and hoped that Dorian would make it before the rest of the mage army.

 

He was a useful tool, and perhaps something close to a friend. Either way, Razikale was not ready to let him pass into death’s cold embrace.

 

She heard the beat of the enormous wings long before she could smell the dragon. Familiar dark magic was all over it, and she could feel the hold it had over the creature’s mind. She ginned in grim realization; of course, the first dragon she would come across would be a servant of the abomination.

 

It landed twenty feet away from her and circled her with a single-minded intent that all predators possessed. Razikale bared he teeth and watched with wild eyes as the dragon let loose a rattling breath. It was a fetid creature – it’s once majestic beauty twisted beyond recognition.

 

Her fingers clenched over the orb and one of the dragon’s eyes zeroed in on the action. So, it was here to fetch the orb, was it? Well it was sure to be disappointed then – she had no intention of giving it back!

 

“So, the majestic dragon has been reduced to that of a dog. How disgraceful – you are disgraceful. Go back to your abomination of a Master and LEAVE. ME. ALONE!”  


Perhaps her taunt was not a smart move, but the very site of the creature set her blood boiling. Her screamed insult apparently had a similar effect on the dragon, for it took in a rattling breath and let out a torrent of purple tinged fire. With a graceful swipe of her hand, a barrier sprung to life saving her from the vicious flames. But the move costed her. The pull on her mana reserves left her breathless, she was still trying to attune to her free magic. She was making a very dangerous gamble; she could have easily beat this dragon had she not been collared the last couple of years, but now her magic was unpredictable, and the pull on her reserves, over taxing.

 

The dragon snapped it’s jaws out, hoping to catch her off guard, but she twirled just out of it’s range and hurtled a ball of electricity at it’s open maw. It reared back and let out a frustrated snarl. She itched to transform herself, and could feel her nails elongate in response to her bodies stress. But Razikale knew was already taxed beyond her limits – no need to be suicidal.

 

Razikale swayed and had to steady herself against a nearby tree, warily watching as the Dragon shook his head to clear away the traces of her magic. As pathetic as it was, she was done; she had not enough mana to trigger her full transformation and not enough to put up another barrier. Her legs trembled as she went to take a step and let out a bitter laugh, she didn’t even have enough stamina to run anymore.

 

She glanced down at the dark orb, and it seemed to laugh at her. She could sense the magic beneath the sphere and desperately tried to call to it.

 

She was met only with silence.

 

A deep growl made her head jerk up. The deformed dragon now loomed near her, his teeth bared in an aggressive display. Each lumbering step brought it closer and closer to her slumped form and soon it towered right over her, its rotten breath blowing her hair back.

 

She had plans! She would be damned if all her waiting and maneuvering ended at the hands of a pet dragon. No, she would not die like some coward. Razikale stared at it’s one eye and let out a defiant yell.

 

But death was not in the cards for her.

 

Instead of jaws snapping closed around her, unforgiving talons circled around her body.  Startled, she slipped as the beast grasped her in it’s front claws. The force of the grasp tore her robes, along her ribs and legs, and the orb was forced uncomfortably into her gut. She had no breath left in her to scream when the dragon took off from the ground with a sudden leap.

 

Carried as she was, Razikale found it hard to see where she was going, but she did have a lovely view of the underside of the dragon. Chilled air whipped past her face as the pair flew off into the night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She was dropped cruelly to the ground, as if the dragon could not wait to be rid of her. As soon as Razikale hit the ground, the beast let loose a torrent of crackling flame, surrounding and closed off an area around one solitary figure.

 

After rolling a few feet, Razikale lay still and unmoving on her side, at the feet of the very abomination she had been trying to outrun. Her eyes felt like lead as she blinked in dazed lethargy. Her ears rang so loudly that she could not make out any sounds, not even her own laboured breaths.

 

The Elder One’s angry gaze focused on her and the orb nestled in her grasp. Despite her hasty travel, the orb sat tightly in the palm of her hand. It’s silence more mocking than ever. With bleary eyes, she slowly rocked her head to the side and watched as the clawed hand of Corypheus reached down and pried her frozen fingers from the artifact. Razikale tried to summon the strength to resist, but she was spent – her mana all but gone, and her body battered into uselessness.

 

She watched in absolute fury as the Elder One sneered down at her, grasping the orb in his left hand. His lips formed words, but the ringing in her ears was too loud for her to understand what was being said. She sighed, no doubt they were derogatory.

 

The abomination then dismissed her presence by stepping over her prone body, like she was some bug under his feet, not something worthy of his attention. She bristled (as much as she could) when his skirted robes slid over her body as he glided over her. The dragon was out of her line of sight, though she could feel it’s presence somewhere behind her. Mustering what little strength she had left, Razikale groaned as she rolled from her side onto her aching back. She bit back a cry that wanted to leave her lips as she did so. If she tilted her head just right, she could make out the upside-down figure of Corypheus as held a crackling sphere in his hands.

 

The foci glowed bright red in the night, and Razikale closed her eyes at the sight. How could the orb answer the call of that twisted creature’s, but not respond to her own? Her despairing thoughts soon became muddied as she felt exhaustion crept up on her.

 

No!

 

She had to stay awake, she could not afford to sleep. When next she looked back, some time must have passed, for now Corypheus dangled a battle ravaged human, solely by his glowing arm.

 

That must really hurt.

 

Squinting, she realized it was indeed the Herald being swung around like a play thing. She snorted, so much for the saviour of Thedas.

 

The two men (and she used the term loosely for the Elder One) were talking, though again, she found herself unable to make out the worlds. Razikale blinked, but found it incredibly hard to open her eyes again. When she finally did, she watched as the Elder One’s face contorted in rage as he flung the Herald of Andraste against the ground. The Herald bounced once, twice, then seemed to come to a stop just against the bottom of a trebuchet.

 

Razikale let her head fall back to the frozen ground. She lazily watched as snow flakes meandered to the ground, glowing a soft pink as they reflected the magic fire which surrounded the area. She knew she should stay alert, watch to see what was happening behind her, but could find little will to move again.

 

As the corners of her vision darkened, Razikale watched as an arrow was shot from somewhere in the distant mountains. She watched as it flew high into the sky. It’s blazing tip a fiery beacon in the night sky.

 

She knew no more after that.

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9 - Memories of the Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, thank you again for taking the time to read this fic. As usual - don't own anything to do with Dragon age...that belongs to someone else.

**Chapter 9 – Memories of the Lost**

 

Her black lacquered nails tapped a hurried staccato beat against the marble railing. Irritation battled against Razikale’s usually impeccable wealth of patience; patience that seemed to disappear as soon as she had to deal with her least favorite God.

Where _was_ Dumat? Her high priest guaranteed that Dumat had received her summons. And she had been succinct and firm – they had to meet this night, for her concerns could no longer be kept in shadows.

So, the question remained, where was he?

Though, as she stood there like one of the many statutes, that she (perhaps) expected too much from the man. It had been decades since she had last been in Dumat’s company, and their parting words had been anything but kind. She wondered if he still harboured any memories of their time together – surely, after all the years she stood by him, she was at least due the respect of him showing up to this meeting on time.

Time though, never seemed to be a concern for him, and Razikale wondered if it was simply beyond Dumat’s ability to care. But in this, she would make him care, oh yes, she would! Something had to be done about the magisters and their new profane goals, and it was enough incentive for her to swallow her pride and waste her time away in the antechamber of Dumat’s temple.

Despite the rich incense smoke obscuring the corridors, the priests, she could tell, did not appreciate her unexpected visit. They eyed her with equal measure of respect and fear. One, in particular, kept shooting her suspicious glances as he tended to the numerous alters.

It _was_ unusual for a God to intrude on another’s temple, but she could no longer adhere to the strict protocol. The magisters were reaching beyond their means again, and this time they were threatening the very hard-won order she and the others had worked to obtain. Had it simply been the machinations of a few humans, then she could sit back and watch them fail spectacularly. However, it was not just the humans who were involved - no, now she could hear the sweet whispers of her kin as they seduced the Magisters with grand ideas.

Razikale sighed as she played with the gold beads dangling from her headdress. She had a feeling these ‘grand ideas’ would be the end of them.

“My _beautiful_ Razikale.”  A richly smooth baritone broke through her thoughts, and Razikale stilled her fidgeting to turn to the very man she had been waiting for.

His joyful words at her appearance fell flat on her ears. She was not here to exchange pleasantries, nor here to play word games and be coquettish. Frowning, Razikale bowed her head sharply, her crescent headdress sparkling gold in the candlelight, “Dumat, I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

He continued towards her with a full smile, teeth shockingly white against his deeply tanned skin. Dumat either did not notice her sour mood, or summarily chose to ignore it.

Knowing him, he probably chose to ignore it.

His robes swished as he continued to move towards her, arms open as if to embrace, “From you Razikale, I could never tire of seeing your face.”

 _‘Yes, you could’_ , thought Razikale as Dumat continued to intrude on her space.

He came to rest by her elbow and gently tapped the side of her face – his warm fingers hitting the shimmering silk which hid the lower half of her face. “I wish you would remove this face cover when you come here, it is such a shame to hide your delightful face.”

The cloth in question, did its job and hid her mocking smile, “I like it…it has a certain appeal to it.” She pulled her face away from Dumat’s searching fingers, “It seemed an appropriate thing to wear.” Razikale smoothed her fingers over the black silk, “Hidden and mysterious, are those not the attributes with which the human’s associate me? Why not live up to their expectations? The veil certainly adds a certain sense of ‘unknown’ to my presence.” Razikale drawled.

Dumat nodded in agreement, “That it does, but now unfortunately even the high-born ladies are wearing this face covering.” Dumat tisked, “The fact they think to emulate a God is, in fact, quite insulting. Ultimately though, it is your business whether you act against the slight or not. Though, I highly doubt you are hear to discuss fashion with me.”  Dumat crossed his arms over his wide chest, the skin of his forearms glinting attractively in the low light, “Why is it that you’ve decided to pay me a visit after so many years? I must confess my surprise when I saw you standing here, rather than your high priest. Ten years…no actually, I do believe it has been at least twenty years, since I last had the pleasure of your company.”

His lazy smile dropped and his honeyed tone took on a touch of steel, “So, I will ask again Razikale, why are you here?”

Razikale’s eyes slanted to the side, pointedly staring at the meandering priests and numerous slaves in the temple. Understanding her silent request, Dumat lazily waved them away, all chores forgotten as they hurried to do their God’s bidding.

Razikale stepped forward and urgently demanded, “You need to stop encouraging the Magisters to go beyond the Veil.”

Dumat threw his head back and let out a boisterous laugh. It echoed against the cavernous room as if ten men stood in his place. At her lack of response, Dumat ceased his laughing and his golden eyes narrowed into shrewd appraisal, “You’re serious?”

“Of course I am serious.” She pointed aggressively at him, “The human’s have no place in the Fade, yet you and the others are whispering in their ears of things which should not even be considered! The fade is a place for spirits and Gods, not a place for mortal men.”

For such an imposing figure, Dumat could move swiftly when inspired. No sooner had words left her mouth, had Razikale found herself pushed against the wall. A large hot hand lightly resting at the hollow of her throat, not restricting…yet, but a very real reminder of the possibility of the action.

Dumat’s calm arrogance was instantly replaced with the cold fury of his anger, “Do NOT think you can come here, into my temple, unannounced and full of self righteous ideals!” His fingers flexed and she could feel his nails elongate, pricking her skin. It was a testament to how close Dumat was to loosing his patience, “After so many years… _YOU_ , who is one of the youngest of us all, seek to council _ME_ on my actions? Who do you think you are?”

Testing her luck, Razikale pushed against his grip, forcing Dumat to either start choking her for real, or releasing her from his prison. Her gamble paid off, as she knew it would, and he stepped back and let her move away from the wall.

Razikale closed her eyes briefly to steady herself. She had forgotten what an explosive temper Dumat had. With a whisper she entreated, “At least do me the common courtesy of hearing my words.”

This time it was a bitter laugh that left Dumat’s mouth, “I am neither common nor courteous, Razikale, and neither are you.”

Choosing to ignore the barb, she continued on in a calm voice, “I cannot understand how the Others have agreed to your insane ideas? We have stability now – power enough for us all. Why risk it on such a dangerous endeavour?”

Dumat sneered, “Stability. Is that what you want?” He gestured to the decadently adorned temple around them, “To sit in the safety of your temple, watching people be born and die…only to be replaced by _things_ which are born simply to die again?” Dumat paced restlessly, “Where is your ambition? We are powerful creatures, yes, but there is so much _more_ available to us. The ones who came before, those ancients wielded true magic, things you could not even fathom. All because the fade was not there to hinder them. You were a young spirit then, so you may not remember the grandeur of the old magics – but I do! And the veil trapped these magics behind a wall so vast and impenetrable, that not even you or I can break it.”

Confused, Razikale asked, “If you desire more power, why not just sacrifice your followers en masse? The humans replenish at an alarmingly fast rate, and you are the strongest of Us at using blood magic. Surely this would boost your mana reserves for the next century or so?”

Dumat continued to pace along the hall, “Don’t you see! This is not about mana – yes, I can get that very easily.” He walked forward and grabbed her arms gently, and almost wistfully said, “There are so many things lost beyond the veil; knowledge, magics and wondrous things you could not even fathom Razikale. It is a shame you were such a young spirit when the Great Divide went up.”

He let her go then, and stared pensively at his grand alter, “If we can get enough Magisters into the fade, then the humans can find a way to tear it open from the inside out.”

Her mind whirled at the implications. She had been wrong, Dumat did not only want to enter the fade, but he wanted to use the Magisters to pull down the veil from the inside.

Alarmed, Razikale asked, “And the Others…they agree with your plan?”

Dumat’s face lit up into a patronising smile, “Of course they did. Urthemiel, most of all, agreed with the idea.”

An unpleasant laugh irrupted from her, “Of course Urthemiel would agree with you. You have your cock in him every night.”

Her head was roughly yanked back by the base of her braid. Hot fingers tightened their grip on her hair as Dumat’s smooth lips hovered over her own clothed ones. His lips ghosted over her own as he whispered, “There was a time when my cock was in you every night as well.” His lips hovered for a moment longer before he realised her head, “little good it’s doing me now.”

Without giving her a chance to reply, Dumat turned back to his alter in contemplation, “If you don’t agree with my plan…”, he shot her a withering look, “and you really should. Then I suggest you make other arrangements when the time comes. You are outnumbered here Razikale – your voice against the rest of us means nothing. Either encourage your followers to participate, or take the Great Sleep and cede them over to another God: Toth, Andoral…Urthemiel…” Razikale clenched her fist at his goading smile, “It does not matter whom you choose. Either way, your mages _will_ heed my call.”

She stood there and said nothing – could say nothing. Dumat was right, if all the other Gods had aligned with his crazy idea, then her solitary voice would hold no sway over the matter. But there had to be something she could do? The last thing she wanted was to give her follower base to another God – she had worked very hard to develop her devotees.

As if sensing her inner struggle, Dumat kindly said, “You should strongly consider my advice. I don’t want to have to hurt you Razikale, but we need to _all_ be united in this. There are not enough powerful mages in our empire to have them split in ideas. All of them are needed for this attempt. That means the public, our priest, our followers…. EVEN our slaves need to see that all the Gods are unified.

Dumat circled her, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten just how many of the elite flock to your temples. I hear they even want to devote a place of learning to you. I _need_ mages like that, and your followers will play a key role. And to have your mages, I will need, _unfortunately_ , your agreement in this matter.”

He turned his sharp gaze on her, eyes glowing with vicious power, “Or your obedience – it doesn’t really matter which.”

_Obedience._

Not a word Razikale was particularly fond of. The concept raked against her, like nails on stone, sat heavy and bitter on her tongue. But she had found herself in a dangerous position and one partially her fault. She should have never forced this confrontation, she sees this now. It would have been better to feign ignorance, but now she knows…knows the calamitous plan about to take place.

She could of course, simply go along with the dangerous plan and thus add her followers’ power to that of the other Gods. Or she could openly condemn the idea, and ostracize not only herself, but all those who pledged their allegiance to her. And that look in Dumat’s eyes…it was something that sent chills down her spine. He could not kill her, well, at least she did not _think_ he could. But she knew very well there were things worse than death – and Dumat knew _all_ about them.

What choice did she have in this? None.

It was very clear to her that Dumat would get her followers no matter the steps she took to thwart him. She grudgingly acknowledged he was the oldest and strongest of them all. With a heavy heart, she knew all that was left was to take the great sleep, for she had no desire to witness the madness the Others would surely unleash.

Just as Razikale opened her mouth to yield to Dumat, something caught her attention. A flash of colour indistinct against the back drop of the temple. She turned to ask Dumat what it was, but noticed he stood there frozen, like a snap shot in time. His eyes were unfocused and distorted.

Alarmed, Razikale quickly opened her senses and scanned the area for any magical signatures. Immediately she noticed another entity just beyond the entrance to the temple. It was lingering there, doing nothing, but powerful enough to generate a unique mana signature even in its state of rest.

She quickly glanced back at Dumat and noticed his form had become even more indistinct. Colours blending into one another until his image became fuzzy and unfocused. As she slowly backed away from him, she finally realized what was going on.

The fade…she was in the fade.

 

It had been so long since she last dreamed, that the entire experience seemed foreign. Waking from the Great Sleep, only to be immediately collared had left her no time to travel the dreamscape of this broken world. The mana collar had not only suppressed her magic, but her ability to dream and travel the fade as well. But now it was all so clear – how had she not noticed she had been locked in her own memory?

Razikale berated herself for her lack of awareness. As if knowing Razikale was now aware of her surroundings, the memory swirled away into the unnatural landscape of the fade. Like so many things, another fragment of her previous life dissolved into nothingness. She took a moment to mourn the loss. She may not have appreciated that particular memory, but it had been nice to be surrounded by familiar things...if only for a short while.

Now that the illusion was gone, Razikale could clearly see the entity pressing upon her dream realm. It was large and blurry, like the effort to maintain its shape in the fade was too much for the creature to bear. There were two sets of eyes upon the beast’s face, glowing red in the fade-light, and staring unseeing into her dream.

And she would make sure it stayed that way. Her instinctive barriers, which were already protecting her dream, tightened in response to the threat. The creature had not been able to move past them, and she did not intend to give it a chance to.

Her lips curled back into an aggressive smile, her pointed teeth on clear display. So, there was a Dreamer lurking in the area, was there? One arrogant enough to try and force its way into her memories. Well, she would just have to teach the person a lesson. No one, and she meant no ONE had the right to her memories!

The power lay dormant under her hands, but sprung up at her command. She smirked, it seemed magic in the fade was easier for her to use then in the physical word. Just as she gathered dark electricity in her palm, another presence made its self known.

_‘Razikale’_

The word was like a whisper, quiet, but sharp against the stillness of the fade. It was enough of a distraction that her magic slipped away from her fingers. She glanced around for the other person, only to come up short.

_‘Razikale, you need to wake up. Please darling girl, it’s time to WAKE UP’_

 

* * *

 

 

She gasped into wakefulness. It was jolting – the change from the vibrant green background to the black nothingness which met her.

There were sounds; she could hear the murmured and intelligible speech of many people. She strained her senses to try and understand what was going on around her, but found the task impossible. Razikale tried to open her eyes, but found her lids heavier than lead, and thick with crust. It seemed her body was rebelling against all her attempts to rouse herself from sleep.

Where was she? The last thing she remembered was the endless biting cold, the weight of snow as it pushed against her body – unyielding and endless.

DRAGON!

There had been a dragon, and the deformed creature which controlled it – the Magister who should not even exist.

The memory of her flight for freedom came rushing back to her. How was she still alive?

She tried again to open her eyes, and with a small victory, was able to open them a crack. It was dark, the only source of light coming from a solitary candle in what seemed to be a tent. Her hands clenched, and she found that she was wrapped in thick fur, course against her snow raw skin.

Despite a lack of physical pain, her spirit, the very essence of her mana, was severely drained. The years of not using her mana, followed by the collaring and then subsequent use of blood magic had been damaging.  Despite this, Razikale tried to lift her body off the furs; she had to know what was going on.

A gloved hand pushed her back down. Dorian’s worried voice (a voice she was sure she was never going to hear again) was urgent in his appeal, “Hush, hush, Razikale. Silly girl, you need to be resting.”

She went to raise her hand but found it firmly in the Altus’ grip, “Dorian –,” her voice cracked with disuse, “What is going on? Where are we?”

“Oh, my friend,” he bent forward to gently grasp her face, “I thought we had lost you. You were under that dragon and then suddenly lost to the avalanche. If it hadn’t been for the Herald –”

“The Herald of Andraste?”

“Yes, “Dorian quickly looked out the tent flap, “That insufferable man actually has some redeeming qualities it seems. Can you believe it?” Dorian let out a relieved laugh, “Some how he dug both himself out of the snow. Even managed to drag you up the mountain with him. They are calling it a miracle, that the Maker himself aided Trevelyan.”

Razikale snorted. Somehow, she doubted that.

Her mind tried to grasp what was being said. But her exhaustion was making it impossible. With stuttering words, she asked, “How long have I been unconscious?”

Trying, and failing to look unconcerned, Dorian said with false cheer, “Five days darling, you were asleep for five days.”

It was the longest she had been asleep since waking from her imposed hibernation. No wonder her mind had been so vividly trapped in the fade. She looked back at Dorian and found him appraising her with an anxious expression. When she tried to get up again, Dorian pushed her back down and kept his hand on her chest.

“What is it?”

He shifted and quickly glanced over his shoulder again, this time making sure his voice was but a whisper, “I think you should take more time to heal – don’t push yourself too hard.” At Razikale’s raised brow, Dorian sighed, “The left hand of the Divine has taken an interest in you – both she and the Commander were very adamant that you not die.” He frowned, “And… that I retrieve them the moment you were well enough to talk. I think they want to ask you some questions – possibly very uncomfortable and dangerous things.”

Razikale hummed, “What could they possibly want from me?”

“Well let’s see…you fell from the sky, dropped by this, Elder One’s, dragon with a magical orb locked tight in your grasp. The very object which was then used against their most _holy,_ and beloved Herald of Andraste. Couple that with the fact that you are the wayward Tevinter concubine of the Archon, traveling with the disgraced scion of House Pavus… I don’t wonder why they aren’t here, interrogating you this very minute.”

Dorian made a very valid point.

But again, with so much information and so little energy in her body, Razikale was having a tough time thinking a way out of her situation. She shifted, trying to roll to her side, when a figure in the corner of caught her attention. It was a man, an elf, which seemed to be sitting against the back of the tent. His bald head was bowed forward, arms slung over the smooth staff in his lap. She could tell simply by the way he breathed, that this man was in a deep sleep.

Seeing where her attention now lay, Dorian supplied, “That is Solas, a fellow apostate who works with the Herald.  They say he is the authority on all things fade around here.”

“Why is he here now though?” she whispered.

Dorian looked back at her, “He was the one responsible for your healing. It was quite something, watching him cast spell after spell on you; he was very diligent with your recovery. I don’t know if it was a result of the Left Hand’s encouragement or not, but he was just as adamant you survive as the others.”

Dorian shook his head in amusement, “He used so much mana, I’m surprised he managed to find a place to sit before he passed out. I figured the least I could do, was let him rest in peace. Besides, look at him Razikale,” he pointed to the sleeping elf, “I doubt this hobo apostate could do much harm.”

Razikale sighed, rolling to her side and facing away from both Dorian and the elf. She was tired and this conversation was doing nothing for her mood. Closing her eyes, Razikale tried to rest and suppress her ire. What Dorian said about the elf…it was what most people thought of her as well – inconsequential and harmless.

They were wrong – oh so very wrong.

And their ignorance was stifling.  


	10. Chapter 10 – The Weight of a Heart Against a Feather

**Chapter 10 – The Weight of a Heart Against a Feather**

 

 

It was still dark out, when Razikale next woke.

Despite having fallen into more than one dreamless sleep, the previous night’s fade memory was still fresh in her mind. She could taste the incense heavy in the air, could feel the balmy heat of Tevinter’s evening sun against her skin. It was an unkindness, this dream. For it had rekindled an old ache which Razikale had worked hard to smother during her time of servitude with the Archon.

But the dream lingered. Oh, how she missed the comfort of old Tevinter; the familiarity.

No.

It would not do to dwell on such morose thoughts - The Tevinter she knew was long dead and gone. To want something no longer attainable was to ask for nothing but heartache and pain.

And she was tired of pain.

What good was it to chase after a shadow? There was no one left to remember, so why should she be burdened like this? Why linger on the forgotten path?

But even as Razikale tried bitterly to convince herself of these facts, she could not help but imagine better times. Times when humans and the elves alike listened – listened to the whispers of her kind. Where they were grateful to act on the wills of those who could guide them. When magic was respected and could reach amazing heights.

Razikale smiled to herself, realizing with bitter irony, that she sounded just like Dumat all those centuries ago.

Alone and in a strange tent, the unforgiving frigid air had become even more biting then she remembered. She could not recall ever being so cold. Flashes of the previous night played behind her closed eyes; incomplete snap shots of a gruesome dragon and a harrowing journey up a desolate mountainside. Were it not for Dorian confirming the extraordinary tale, Razikale would never have believed she had survived a veritable mountain falling on top of her. Who would have thought she would have survived something like that? It would have harmed even the sturdiest of Old Ones, and she had essentially slept through it.

Not without consequence though, Razikale realized as she flexed her stiff hands and felt the burning stretch of injured flesh. She could still feel the residual traces of healing magic layered over her body. By rights she should have never lived through it; the chances too slim. But despite all the odds she had survived, and no thanks to several unusual coincidences: The Herald and her falling into the same abandoned mineshaft, said place managing to protect them from the avalanche, the Herald coming into new power to protect them from wraiths and demons alike….it was all so incredible.

Another chill swept through her body, and Razikale frowned. Warm air seeped from her lips as she heated her hands with magic - the ice which had resiliently clung to her lashes melted against the onslaught of new heat. A smile spread across her face at the lovely feeling of her own mana flowing in the air – an old friend dearly missed.

The very fact that her magic had returned, and with it a modicum of control, was a flame of hope in her, admittedly, dangerous situation. It would take time, of course and patience (she was certainly learning to have), but soon her level of control would be back to where it used to be. In perhaps a year, maybe even less, Razikale could start to harvest the bulk of the mana lost in her Great Sleep – take back what was stripped from her by the ravages of time.

But first she had to have control of her mana before she could even think about obtaining her previous power.

The flimsy tent where she rested, was little more than a lean-too and did nothing to buffer the weather outside. Adding to this bitter cold, the cacophony of all the people and the stink of their communal fear was enough to overwhelm her sharp senses. Razikale wished she could just have a moment of peace.

 The sudden sound of a low groan startled Razikale and she rolled over to see the slim frame of an elf uncurl from the corner of her tent.  She had not even noticed he was there.

With bleary eyes, the elf ran a hand over his tired face, “You’re awake, I see.”

She stiffened at the accent; both familiar and strange. The bald head and unassuming clothes were all clues that reminded her that she has seen this man before. Yes, he was the very same elf Dorian had pointed out the previous night. The one who had been tending to her injuries with such fervor. As Razikale continued to look at him she realized, with a start, that this was also the same elf she had met in Redcliffe. But why was he still in her tent, it must have been hours since she was last awake.

Irritated she had not sensed the elf, Razikale bit back, “Perhaps you are asleep,” she lazily waved her hand, “and this is all but a dream.”

For some reason, this answer seemed to amuse the elf to no end. With a gentle uplift of his lips he said, “Perhaps, though I have it on good authority that I am very much awake.”

She snorted, “And whose authority is that?”

She watched as the elf leaned forward to stretch his back, neck popping loudly, “Mine.” He stood slowly, shaking off the last remnants of his fatigue while grabbing his staff, “The others have been waiting for you to awaken for some time.”

The longer Razikale considered this elf, the more unease she felt. Certainly, he was plain looking enough, but something was…off. Distracted as she was with figuring out the man, she failed to notice him approach her.

Cool fingers lightly brushed against the base of her neck, “The collar, it is gone?” he asked with something like incredulity.

His question went unanswered as Razikale violently reeled back from his touch. Despite the intended gentleness of his action, it caused an overwhelming surge of sensation (not all together pleasant) as his fingers touched upon her skin. It was like she had been dropped into freezing water; burning and numbing all at the same time. With the sensation came a sudden crippling weight in her stomach – there and gone in the next second. But Razikale recognized this long-forgotten feeling for what it was:

Fear.

But it did not last long, for quick on the tails of fear came her indignant fury of ever having felt such a thing. How dare this elf touch her, who did he think he was! Who was he to make her fear?

He was nothing.

Razikale lurched forward and angrily pushed his offending arm away, “Who are you?”

If the elf had felt similar things as her, Razikale could not tell, for he remained as calmly affable as before. Though she noticed, his hands now rested firmly behind his back.

“My apologies,” he tilted his head in Razikale’s direction, “I am still rather fatigued from our journey. My name is Solas.” He gestured to her bandaged hands, “I tended to your injuries while you were unconscious. The flight from Haven was a perilous one, and many feared that you and the Herald were lost to us.”

Cautiously, Razikale moved to a sitting position and nodded her head, “Dorian did mention you.”

“Did he?” Solas questioned, “I was not aware you had previously regained consciousness. I was rather under the impression you were too injured to speak with anyone.” He raised a brow, “the others will be interested to hear you are well enough to be questioned.”

Disliking both Solas’ tone and his imperious expression, Razikale frowned, “What do you mean questioned? And what does Dorian have to do with any of this?”

Solas opened his mouth to speak, but she held up an impatient hand, cutting him off, “Where is Dorian anyway? Bring him to me.”

A slight tightening of his jaw and the elf slung his staff upon his back, “I have some idea where your companion is, but I strongly suggest you say here until the others come to speak with you. You have a very loyal friend in this man – he advocated your innocence rather passionately. It is a rare thing, da’len, to encounter such people in these dark days.”

Razikale bristled at the title – she was no child. As she went to lift off the bed, Solas took a step forward and held up his hand, “That is not a wise course of action. Your friend kept your apparent awareness away from the counselors, and I doubt it will earn him any favour should they find this out. If you leave now, there can be no guarantee on how it may reflect upon him.”

“And what of you? Will you keep me here, are you my new jailor?” Looking him up and down, Razikale sneered, “Or are you to rush off to the nearest human and advise them the future prisoner is awake and ready for judgement.”

Solas clenched his jaw, “The Herald’s advisors –,”

But she did not let him finish, “Ah, I see. Are they your keepers then?” Mockingly she asked, “must you find your masters now and report to them the little Tevinter is awake?”

Whatever annoyance the elf had previously shown, melted off his face and was replaced with a chilling sort of indifference, “Your decidedly limited view notwithstanding, the counselors are to decide your fate.” He turned away from her then, back straight and tense, “Perhaps it would behoove you to reign in that temper of yours.”

Solas moved to leave the tent but then paused. As if struck by a sudden thought, he tilted his head and glanced over his shoulder, “Are you, then?”

She regarded Solas coolly, “Am. I. _What_?”

He turned then, his full attention back on Razikale. As the tent flap dropped from his hand and shuttered them back in, Razikale was struck suddenly with how alone she was. The force of his scrutiny was a palpable and isolating thing.

“Are you truly as innocent as Dorian claims? Your association with the beast which destroyed Haven, is certainly a damning thing.”

 _Well_ , Razikale thought wryly, it seemed she was to be judged, not only by the so called _‘counselors’_ , but by this elf as well. At his question, whispered memories of her past broke through. The scent of ashes and charred bones – the long-forgotten cries of her followers who had fallen on her orders.

Razikale smiled, a small bitter thing, “Is anyone truly innocent?”

His silence was a heavy and oppressive thing, as Solas considered her. Hands held behind his back once more, he continued to stare at her. His thoughts on her answer hidden behind a stony air. Whatever he was looking for, Solas must not have liked, for after a moment he turned away from her and left the tent.

  

* * *

 

 

When Razikale was finally permitted to leave her tent, bundled in some old woolen cloak, there were two very burly individuals waiting for her at the entrance. By the look and smell of them (Lyrium always did have a distinct scent), these two must be what the people called, ‘Templars’.

While the Order certainly held different connotations in Tevinter, Razikale had learned much from her time at Redcliffe. Surrounded as she’d been by the indentured mages, Razikale heard plenty about the Chantry’s Circles, and their enforcers – the Templars. All it took was one look at the pair’s unyielding expressions for the snarky fight to leave Razikale; perhaps it would be best if she kept her head down. She had already alienated herself from one potential ally, no need to keep burning more proverbial bridges. Pulling the demure act was now like wearing a second skin; something she had learned to master early on in her time with the Archon.

Slowly, and with great care to her battered body, Razikale wrapped the cloak tighter around her shoulders. With a sigh she flicked the end of the threadbare fabric with a frown (it was an _ugly_ thing) and nodded her head for the guards to lead the way.

Her ‘tent’ seemed to be on the very outskirts of the group. The two women accompanying her refused to make any sort of eye contact with Razikale as they walked between the rows of tents. They also seemed to be going out of their way to avoid other people as well, keeping Razikale out of sight.

_‘Well, that does not bode well.’_

It did not take long to reach their destination, a hastily constructed command tent, by the looks of it. It was still night out, so the tent was dark and forbidding. A small fire was the only source of light and created vast wavering shadows against the fabric. Surprisingly, instead of some burley commander type brute waiting for her, a delicate woman stood in the center of the tent. This fair woman considered her from underneath her hood with a decidedly disturbing gaze, as shadows creeped along the sharp planes of her face.

A second later and the forbidding gaze was replaced with a perfectly welcoming smile, “Please have a seat, the others will be here shortly”.

Razikale doubted this was a request at all, as she promptly sat down in the only chair situated in the middle of the tent. It forced her to place her back against the entrance of the tent, a potentially dangerous position.

Seeing that Razikale had complied with the request, the woman turned back to the table and began to leaf through various papers. This woman was either very arrogant, or highly skilled if she thought it was safe to turn her back on a possible threat. Razikale flexed her fingers against the pull of her shape shifting magic - sorely tempted to lunge forward. She wondered how fast this woman was, how much damage could be done to her before the guards moved to intercept?

After an unknown amount of time, the flaps to the tent swished open. A muscular fair-haired man, who smelled vaguely of lyrium, and a tanned woman with a high bun, rushed in. On the heals of these two, came a third individual whose expression alone screamed “righteous fury”.

 _She would have made a good follower_ , Razikale idly thought.

This observation was quickly smothered when said woman lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of Razikale’s robe as she roared, “What have you done?!”

Whatever response Razikale was about to supply was cut off by a startled gasp coming from the other tanned woman in the room. The blond man rushed forward and pried Cassandra’s armoured fingers from around Razikale’s shoulder, though not before giving Razikale a dangerous glare, “That is enough Cassandra, let Leliana question her.”

So, she had two of the majour players names now. Cassandra must be the angry warrior type – the one who had no problem assaulting unarmed individuals. And Leliana…was her mood swinging soon-to-be interrogator.

_Lovely._

Said interrogator moved back to the center of the tent and leaned down towards Razikale’s still form, “What is your name?”

A simple question, really, but one that took some consideration. Dare she reveal the name she was now known by? How far had her reputation followed her from Tevinter? Better yet, had Dorian said anything, revealed her connection to the Archon?

So many things to consider.

But it was always the easiest to deceive with the truth, “My name is Raza.”

“No last name then?”

She shook her head and clenched her hands to keep calm, it would do no good to lose her temper now. Taking on a meek air, Razikale looked to the ground, “There was no need for last names where I came from. It _was_ rather frowned upon to even ask such things in a brothel– and one was never given to me.”

Silence, and then a deep chuckle came from behind Razikale. It was so deep that it made her jump a little in her seat. She twisted in her chair, indignant at the fact that anyone had managed to sneak up on her. Imagine her surprise at finding the towering grey creature from before, lounging against one of the support poles. The man…giant-thing regarded her with an open smile, crinkled around the edge with laughter that did not quite reach his singular eye. Were the massive horns not intimidating enough, the crossed biceps and bulging muscles certainly did the job.

Seemingly at ease with Razikale’s intense perusal, the man said, “You almost pulled that off, girly.” He pushed off the pole and walked closer to her, she could see an impressive maul strapped to his back, “But you really should have started the meek act a little earlier in the game.”

He scratched the base of his eye patch and took in Razikale’s affronted expression, “What? Did you really think we wouldn’t talk to Solas before speaking with you?”

_‘Fucking Solas.’_

Smoothly, Leliana took back control of the interrogation by coming in front of Razikale and pulling off her shawl in one fell swoop. It left Razikale’s poorly adorned body bare to the cool air. Goose bumps quickly rose along her arms and legs.  But it also seemed to have some other purpose, for the Spy Master’s eyes zeroed in on her bruised, but free neck.

Cassandra came closer and crouched down to get a better look at Razikale’s neck. Sounding surprised she muttered, “The Tevinter mage spoke true,” Cassandra stood back up and turned to Leliana, “that is indeed the remaining markings of a slave collar.”

Leliana made a considering noise, “ _Perhaps_.” The redhead turned back to Razikale, “Dorian did mention he helped you flee the clutches of your Master – a Master who is now in league with Corypheus.”

 _‘Well’_ , thought Razikale, ‘ _That is an interesting spin for my actual reason in being in Redcliffe’_. But she saw no reason to correct Leliana. If Dorian thought it was best to keep her association with the Archon a secret, she would follow his lead – for now.

“It is quiet the story don’t you think? What I want to know, Raza - and trust me when I say that I will know if you lie to me – is why you were in Redcliffe to begin with. From what the Herald has seen, the majority of the Venatori forces are militant types.” Leliana gestured to Razikale’s bruised and battered body, “and you do not strike me as such.”

Through clenched teeth, Razikale ground out, “I had nothing to do with the plans of that madman! Dorian and I were fleeing for our lives, before the Elder One’s dragon came upon us. Do you think I could possibly have fought against that creature, hmm? Perhaps summoned some ancient magic to fight a fucking Dragon and demented mage, both at the same time?”

The ironic thing was, Razikale possibly could have done that very thing, had her magic been working properly. If that thrice damned collar had never been forced upon her body and her mana locked away for so long. The very thought of it made her temper rise.

Hardly affected by Razikale’s anger, Leliana raised an elegant brow, “And yet, you were the one who fell from the sky, carried in the Beast’s own claw.” A sharp smile split the woman’s face, “Not only that, but in the possession of the very object which was used against our Herald. So, _please_ , forgive me if I think you have more to do with this then simply being a victim of circumstance.”

Taking a deep breath, Razikale tried to calm down. Twice now she had lost control of her temper - what was _wrong_ with her? She was no young thing, yet here she was fumbling around and losing control of herself. If she could last a year under the thumb of the Archon, then she could suffer the suspicions of these fools.

Yes – she just had to keep her head. With narrowed eyes, Razikale slowly bent down and picked up her previously discarded shawl. Wrapping it securely around herself, she closed off her expression and sat quietly back in her chair - she was done talking.

Leliana tilted her head in an avian manner, “Oh, are you done taking then?”

At Razikale’s silence, she continued, “Well, I think you are lying, of course. However, the extent of your deception is yet to be determined. But let’s be _honest_ here, the Inquisition is hardly in the position to waste any sort of resource. Don’t think we haven’t noticed you are a mage – this fact alone has saved your life; your potential usefulness, for now, outweighs the risk of keeping you alive.”

Leliana grasped her shoulders tightly, painfully digging into her skin. Razikale could feel the woman’s breath as she leaned forward and said, “I hope you realize this is far from over. I think you have many of the answers we seek, and I just cannot _wait_ to dig them out of you. I suggest you become more talkative before next we meet, or I fear our next rendezvous may not be as pleasant.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate everyone who is still sticking with this story. Terribly late updates, I know - but working towards a regular schedule now.


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